


Ain't No Grave Gonna Hold My Body Down

by Saklani



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-28
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saklani/pseuds/Saklani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost Halloween, and Sam's getting visions of his Stanford friends dying at the hands of a vengeful spirit.  Worse yet, the spirit is Jess.  Sam needs his brother's support to get fight and survive old ghosts, but Dean's got troubles of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't No Grave Gonna Hold My Body Down

**Author's Note:**

> My annual Halloween fic, and the first with my lovely co-author, Rini! *hugs* This is our second foray into SPN. We hope you enjoy!

Sam leaned against the passenger door and stared into the night, pretending they were on their way to just another hunt. Another bunch of nameless, faceless people to be saved from another evil. But he could not lie to himself.

Three of his friends from Stanford were dead, all under suspicious circumstances. One found in the middle of campus, eyes and mouth wide. One sprawled over his bed, throat crushed. And most tellingly, the first in the middle of a graveyard, sprawled by a tombstone inscribed Jessica Moore.

Dean looked across the distance between him and Sam, sighing before looking back at the road. He could only wonder what rumbled around in his brother's head and Dean was damned if he knew how to jolt him out of this mood.

Feeling Dean's eyes on his neck, Sam said, "Why her grave, Dean? Why did it have to be her grave?"

"Not a clue, Sammy. Doesn't have to mean anything, you know." Dean drummed his thumb on the steering wheel, eyes still trained on the road.

Sam snorted and shook his head. "You know better. Her grave. My friends. One year anniversary of her death, almost. Fucking Halloween." He rubbed his eyes, not surprised to wipe away moisture, even though they felt gritty.

Dean grunted at Sam, eyes flicking to the rear view mirror and then to Sam. "Yeah, I know. You got anything on it yet?"

Sam bit his lip and shook his head. "You know what it looks like, Dean." He did not, could not, say that he hoped to Hell he was wrong.

"Wish there was something I could say, Sammy." Dean swiped his thumb over his lip before dropping his hand to his thigh and strumming his fingers in time with the low music. "We'll have to see what we can find when we get there."

"Besides the ruins of my normalcy," Sam said, bitterness mixed with despair. Since the death of their father, he felt the tentacles of their existence squeezing ever more tightly, trying to crush the life out of him. "My stupid dreams."

Dean didn't know what to say. He knew, as well as Sam, what they were likely to find and there was little he could do to protect his brother. It gutted him, and left Dean on uncertain footing. "Not stupid, Sam. Just not meant to be."

Sam let his head collapse against the cool window. "I wish you had gotten to know her, Dean. You woulda liked her, even if she was part of the reason I stayed away from you and dad."

Grunting again, Dean's fist tightened on the wheel. He might've liked her just fine, as Sam said, but Dean wasn't inclined to believe it - because she'd managed to make a life with Sam that didn't include his family. "She seemed nice the time I met her."

"Yeah. When I left her to die." Sam rubbed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Fuck, I thought I'd left this behind, resolved myself to it, but this- what if it is her, Dean? She's got a right to be angry at me."

"It's not your fault, Sammy." Dean knew this argument was pointless, something they circled around time and again, but he stood by his opinion. "If it is her, Sam, then we will do what it takes to put her to rest."

Sam nodded, though he didn't believe they put souls to rest. They destroyed them forever. "The three people who died were all my friends, too, and I haven't thought of them in a year."

"You've had a lot on your mind this year, and seeing some of your friends didn't exactly go well, either." Dean grimaced, thinking about the shapeshifter and Sam's friend, Becky.

"Yeah," Sam said. "You and dad were right about me after all. I'm too much of a freak to do anything but this." He touched his forehead, thinking of the visions which prompted their return to Stanford.

~~~~~~~

No one detail alerted Sam that his dreams were morphing from nightmare to nightmarish reality. He simply knew, as instinctively as a newborn knows its mother, what marked vision from imagination.  So, when the image of his father struggling desperately up a steep cliff after a Mary who pulled ever farther away from him morphed into Melissa kneeling at Jess' grave, Sam understood the real torture had begun.  
   
At first, Melissa appeared simply to be mourning, head bowed and lips moving soundlessly.  But a dark shade hovered around her, through her and settled slowly over the mass of dirt that covered Jess' earthly remains.  Melissa lifted her head suddenly, eyes wide and shot through with fear.  Her hands went to her throat and clutched, trying to claw away something that nobody could see and only she could feel.  
   
Except, Sam could feel it, the grip of a powerful hand around his throat and esophagus.  Delicate, familiar fingers that now clamped with terrifying strength to squeeze the life out of him.  He grabbed for them, trying to breathe, trying to cry for help, and plunged to the floor of the motel room, head full of a thousand pounding drums, breath harsh and unsteady. 

Dean woke when Sam started thrashing in his bed.  His brother's nightmares had become his torment, impotent to help or beat back the things that threatened.  He rolled on his side to watch Sam, eyes quickly taking stock while he waited to see if his brother needed to be shaken awake.  When Sam crashed to the floor, he threw the covers back and vaulted to his brother's side.  Taking Sam in his arms, he looked into Sam's eyes to see if his brother was coherent.

"Jess' grave," Sam stammered, not really focused.  "Something strangling Melissa."  He shook his head, which only made his brain ache more.  "Got to go back to Stanford."

"Stanford?"  Dean scowled at the mere thought, his face smoothing out when Sam's gaze slid to his.  "Something was strangling Melissa over Jess' grave?"  He arched an eyebrow.  "Sure this wasn't just a nightmare, dude?"

Sam held his head and clenched his teeth in reaction to the blinding headache.  "I always know the difference," he said, too distressed to be upset at Dean.  "This was part of the real nightmare that is my life."  He rocked back and forth in Dean's grip, unconscious of the motion. 

Holding tight to Sam, Dean nodded and clenched his own teeth.  Sam's constant criticism of their life got to him more often than he let his brother know. "Let's get you back into bed, and I'll get the Excedrin."

Sam reached out to clutch his brother's shoulders.  "Think I'll need extra tonight.  Won't sleep anymore for sure."  His head slumped forward until it rested on Dean.  "I don't want to go back to Stanford, Dean." 

"I'd say we don't have to, but we both know better."  Dean sighed and hiked Sam up against him hoping he could get them to their feet and Sam back into bed.  Though he knew his brother wasn't good for any more sleep, Dean wanted to try and ease the headache.  "Help me out here, Sammy. Gotta get you back into bed."

Sam slumped against Dean, enjoying the warmth and support.  But he struggled upward at Dean's words and heaved himself on to the bed.  His brain seemed to slam around his skull when he landed, but he shifted to lie against the pillows.  "Fucking hate all of this, man," he muttered, eyes shut tight. 

Dean reached out, hand poised to touch Sam, before he drew back with a muted sigh.  "I know you do, Sammy.  I know."  Defeat colored his words, and Dean made his way into the bathroom to rummage in the toiletries he'd unpacked, coming up with a mostly full bottle of Excedrin He filled a glass with water and headed back to sit on Sam's bed.  "Here you go," he murmured softly, holding both hands out.

Sam took the items with a soft, "Thanks," shook out two more pills than normal and downed them all with a slug of water.  Shutting his eyes, he slumped back against the bed.  "We got enough money to stay somewhere in Stanford?"

"We'll manage." Dean had enough to cover a day and could easily earn them some more in a college town.  He'd done it a few times while cruising in to check up on Sam.  Not that Sam knew he'd ever been in town.  "What time do you want to head out?"

"When you wake up and are ready to go," Sam said.  He sighed and rubbed his temples, wondering why pain had to accompany his visions.  Wasn't the horror enough?  "You took a bit of a beating yesterday.  Should catch up on your sleep."

Dean snorted, his own aches making themselves known now that Sam was settled back in bed.  He really shouldn't have gone vaulting over the two beds to get to his brother.  "Not sure I'm gonna sleep much, but I'll try and crash out.  Wake me if you get too restless or find something online that means we have to move out now."  Smiling weakly at Sam, Dean climbed back under the covers on his bed, sighing when his head hit the pillow.

~~~~~~~

Sam sighed, head still resting against the cool window, thinking how neither had gotten anymore sleep. They'd both lain there; thinking their own thoughts, until Sam finally gave up and headed for the bathroom. By the time he was done, Dean was already finished packing. They were on their way for Stanford by seven a.m.

He stared at the scenery visible in the Impala's headlights and figured they were somewhere in Nevada, on the loneliest highway in the world. "We should stop at the next town, Dean."

"If you want." Dean looked at Sam and then back to the road, seeing the same emptiness that Sam saw, but not feeling nearly so lonely about it. Since Sam's defection to college, he'd taken solace in the long empty stretches of American highway.

"We should get some sleep," Sam said, though he dreaded the thought of closing his eyes. "We can't drive the rest of the way tonight, anyway. It's still too far." He pressed a fist between his eyes.

Nodding, Dean lowered the music slightly in deference to what he assumed was Sam's persistent headache. "Keep your eye out, and I'll pull off at the next motel we can find."

Sam noticed his brother turn down the music and smiled a little at him. "My head hasn't been right all day. I keep waiting to get hit by another one, you know? Since we found out about Mark and Stewart getting killed, too."

"Yeah," Dean responded, another quick glance at Sam. "You keeping it at bay?" His eyes scanned Sam's face, remembering the details Sam had unearthed.

Sam laughed hollowly and shook his head. "I got no kind of control over it. Wish I did." He leaned back in his seat, face strained and pale in the darkness. "Why would she kill them?"

Dean still didn't know how the visions worked, but he hoped that Sam keeping himself dosed helped. "At least the pain is staying at bay, right?" He thought about Sam's question and then shrugged. "I've no idea, Sammy...didn't know her or what might set her off."

Sam shot Dean a quick glare, clearly indicating he had wanted some sort of reassurance, but obviously had asked the wrong person. He shrugged off Dean's other question. "Nothing stops the pain."

The frustration in Sam's face raised Dean's hackles. He knew Sam was looking for reassurance, but also knew that Sam would be pissed if he gave him false hope.

Sam turned back to the blank scenery and stared into the night. "Have you ever thought about what might have been if dad never disappeared?"

"Everyday, Sam. Everyday." Dean wondered how his life would have been different if he'd not been abandoned, in one way or another, by everyone he loved.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Dean." Sam flinched a little from the words and pressed his face harder against the glass. Sorry for being such a disappointment. Sorry for being such a freak. Sorry for not being a good little Winchester and toeing the line.

"Me too, Sammy." Dean thrummed at the steering wheel, looking at lights coming up on the horizon. Sorry that Sam couldn't have the life he wanted. Sorry that the life he'd had was slowly being destroyed.

"For which part are you sorry?" Sam asked, not really expecting a straight answer. Despite years of experience, he'd never learned to censor himself from asking Dean questions he did not want to answer, from pushing them into scenes Dean wanted to avoid.

"I'm sorry you felt you had to leave; I'm sorry that Dad thought he had to leave." It still seemed to Dean that he caused everyone to leave. "I'm sorry that your former life is being shattered on you."

Sam looked at Dean and smiled sadly. "I did have to leave, Dean. It wasn't a whim or something I did lightly. I missed you every day, especially my first year. Know why I didn't call, Dean? I was afraid if I called, I'd beg you to come pick me up."

Dean nodded, his breath caught in his throat. He'd have been there, in a second - a heartbeat- to bring Sam back into the family, into their lives. "At the time, it felt like you left and didn't look back." He took the exit ramp faster than he should have, braking hard at the stoplight, before turning right toward the only motel listed on the sign by the road.

Sam jerked to the right and banged his sore head against the door. "Ow, fuck, Dean. What was that for?"

Grimacing, Dean growled a short apology and then eased into the parking lot. He pulled up to the front door and shut off the car. "I'll get us a room, Sam. Just wait here and then we can get you settled and hopefully, sleeping."

Sam stared at Dean and then sighed. "Whatever, man." He climbed out of the car and stretched in the cool night air.

~~~~~~~

Sam froze by the entrance to Skylawn Memorial Park and stared at the headstones. "I don't know if I can do this, Dean."

Dean looked into the cemetery, remembering the location of Jess' grave from the only time he'd brought Sam there. "I can go in on my own, Sam. If you can't go in there, just get back in the car and have my baby ready to run if we need it."

Sam looked down at his feet and back up at the graves. He took a step forward, past the ugly wrought iron gates and then another. Instinct and memory led him easily through the rows of monuments, until he stood before the one that made his heart clench. "It looks exactly the same."

Following behind, Dean braced to grab Sam, to prop him up or give him whatever he needed. "The same as last year? The same as your dream?"

"Same as in my dreams," Sam said. He knelt by the grave and traced Jess' name with his fingers. "There's no sign of disturbance."

Dean looked around, taking note, of the neat area. "Nothing here?"

Sam stroked the dirt with his fingers. "The scene must have been cleaned up since Melissa died here. It's been several days. We need to find crime scene photos, see what the place looked like before." He closed his eyes and hung his head. "There was nothing left of Jessica but ashes, Dean. We can't salt and burn ashes."

"No, we can't, Sammy. Which means, we have to figure out how and why she was brought back...what magic was used, so that we can lay her to rest." Dean looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

"If it is her," Sam said, but in his heart, he knew- Jess was the one responsible for the deaths. He leaned his head against the solid, cold stone. "It should be me here."

Sighing, Dean looked away, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his leather coat. "It would never have been you, Sam. You weren't meant to die. Not there and not then." He scrunched his shoulders up to his ears, before relaxing them and finally looking back to Sam.

"I knew it was coming, Dean," Sam whispered. "I knew and did nothing. It should be me here, just for that. Jess and dad are the ones who should be alive."

"You know, well as I do, that it doesn't work that way." Dean scuffed at the ground with his boots. "Things happen the way they are meant to, whether or not we like it."

Sam snorted and stood, glancing back at Dean. "That's why you hate yourself for being alive," he said and winced as soon as the words left his mouth. "Fuck, I'm sorry. Just... Jesus, our lives are fucked up."

Dean grunted. Sam wasn't wrong, but Dean didn't want to get into his own feelings. Their dad sold himself for Dean, and that was an entirely different situation from Sam and Jess. "Should we see if we can get those photos?"

"Yeah, I'll check online tonight. You can go to the paper tomorrow, while I try to break into the police records." Sam looked back at Jess' grave and suddenly plummeted straight the ground, hands clasping his head.

"Sammy!" Dean dropped to his knees beside Sam, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close, trying to keep him still while the vision wracked his body.

"Hic en spiritum," Sam said, his voice thick and full of grit. "Decretum espugnare. En inferno inremeablis." His hands tore at his face, scratching deep enough to bleed. "Wa ta na sy yam."

"Sam! No!" Dean shook Sam, hard. He cradled his brother to him, using one hand to curl his face toward Dean. "Look at me, Sammy. C'mon, man."

"Evokare lemures de mortus," Sam said, completely unaware of Dean. He saw the grave in front of him, but not as Sam. He curled his fingers deeper into his cheeks, needing the blood. "Sed non incorpore."

"Sam, stop!" Dean grabbed Sam's hands, yanked them away from his face and backed up, dragging Sam as far away as he could, as fast as he could.

Sam gasped and pulled away from Dean, ending up sprawled on the ground. He blinked at his brother, head pounding and face stinging. "Dean?"

"Fuck, man." Dean dropped back onto his ass and sat there, breathing hard and looking at Sam. "You okay?

"I- She-" Sam grimaced and rubbed his hand across his face, smearing blood. "She did it wrong, Dean. Mixed something up... brought back Jess wrong."

"Yeah?" Dean sighed, wiping his hand over his face. "No more of that, okay? Let's get the knowledge some other way."

Sam shut his eyes, hearing only criticism. "I told you I can't control them, Dean. This isn't how I would choose to learn things." He looked at his hands and gingerly pressed against his cheeks.

Dean sighed, head tipping back until he saw Sam touching his face. Springing forward, he grabbed Sam's dirty hands and tugged them down. "I know you can't control them, Sam. Didn't mean that." He looked at Sam, could see the pain and exhaustion in his brother's eyes. "Let's get you back so we can get you patched up."

Sam frowned and nodded, though his eyes were distant. "I need to look up the incantation, see what she did wrong. What she called instead of Jess... or what she changed Jess into..." He made no move to get up, staring into the distance.

Sitting there, Dean watched Sam, saw the many thoughts and feelings flitting across his face. "You want me to try and break into the police station instead for the photos?"

"No," Sam said, sharp and quick, eyes instantly on Dean. "You can't chance being caught. You know that. And this isn't some backwoods town with a tiny police department that's out of tune with the rest of the world." He took a deep breath, forcing down the jittery sensation in his stomach.

"Alright, Sam. I won't try it." Dean did his best to placate Sam. "C'mon, let's get you back to the room."

Sam fought to his feet, swaying for a second before steadying himself. He glanced back at Jess' grave. "She made a real mess, even before she was killed."

"Melissa?" Dean asked, hands out and ready to steady Sam, if needed.

"Yeah." Sam wiped his face, smearing more blood without noticing. "No wonder they cleaned up so well." He shuddered and started back toward the Impala, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the graveyard as possible. As he reached the entrance, Sam paused and looked over his shoulder, sure he felt a familiar gaze on his back, but only the rows of the dead lurked behind him.

~~~~~~~

Dean put the Impala in park and sat behind the wheel for a moment, fingers idly caressing.  He stared at the door to their room, half dreading that Sam might be there and half dreading that he might not.  Dean swore at the thought that he couldn't back Sammy up at the police station because of the damn shapeshifter.  Sighing, he pushed the door open, wincing at the creak and making a note to oil the hinges before shutting the door and crossing to their room. 

He entered their room and let out a breath when he realized it was empty.  He dropped the paperwork he had collected on the table and toed off his boots.  Dean crossed to his bed and dropped onto it, feet still on the floor, with arm flung over his eyes.  He'd not slept well, kept awake by Sam's movements.

Sam hopped off the bus and walked slowly toward their motel, clutching his backpack tight.  He'd managed to steal the files on his friend's deaths, copy them, return the paperwork and sneak out without being caught.  But there had been some tense moments.  Fortunately, Palo Alto was not a high crime town, so the police were somewhat more relaxed than in other portions of the Bay Area.    
   
He caught sight of the Graduate Inn and smiled a little; glad to be staying somewhere that wasn't a complete dump for once.  The Impala looked strange in the parking lot full of sensible new imports.  He ran an affectionate hand over her side, before heading to their room.  
   
Opening the door, he caught sight of Dean sprawled across the bed and said, "Everything all right, dude?"

Grunting, Dean waved a hand at Sam to assure him he was fine, legs moving slightly against the bed when he settled in.  Wiping the hand over his face, he propped himself up slightly, still sprawled over the end of the bed.  "What'd you find, Sammy?"

"I got all the files, haven't had time to read them yet."  Sam set the backpack on his bed and sank into the mattress.  "It's a huge deal around here, Dean.  Three students dead, all connected to each other.  The school's in panic mode, and so are the police.  We're going to have to be careful not to get tangled with either of them."  He opened his pack and pulled out a thick sheaf of paper.  "They've ruled all three deaths as suspicious."

"That's something, at least."  Dean grunted and dropped back to the bed, hand extended and making a slight grabby motion for Sam to give him some of the details.  "Looks like you got more than I did.  I took what you wrote down of that spell and did some searching.  Didn't pop much, but I called Bobby to see if he could come up with anything else."

Sam pulled out the crime photos from Jess' grave and handed them to Dean.  "These might help us figure out what she was doing.  Look at the candles arranged at the cardinal points around the body.  And what's with the water glasses?  I've never seen this ritual before...  It would help if I could actually remember more of what I was saying last night."

"Yeah, it would really help if we had something to go on. I was more concerned with getting you away from the grave than remembering the Latin."  Dean looked over the photos, noting what Sam pointed out and then narrowing in on the edges of the circle.  "The one thing I do know is that a circle has to be complete for the magic to work and there are several marks along this edge that look like fingers were dragged through it."

"Bloody fingerprints," Sam said and mimed the scratches he had made on his own face.  "She kept scratching her face and dragging it over the grave.  She thought it was part of the ritual."  He shook his head.  "We need to find out where she got the ritual from, too.  Dark magic like that... there's only so many people who would know.  And if they told her wrong on purpose..."

Dean grunted again, cursing under his breath about witches and black magic.  "Why'd anyone tell her wrong on purpose?  Why'd she want to raise Jess in the first place?"  He turned a thoughtful gaze on Sam, leaning back again and really looking at his brother.  "You got any idea on that last one, Sammy-boy?"

Sam glared at Dean and then looked away.  "Mel always had a crush on Jess.  She never liked me much.  I guess she ended up with good cause not to."

"Not your fault, Sam."  Dean mulled over the fact that Melissa had the hots for Jess.  "And, Jess only had eyes for you...which means that with you long gone, Melissa could raise Jess from the grave and have her all to herself."  He sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face again.  "Damn, we need to know more about the ritual...was she trying to raise a zombie?  Or a ghost?"

"How could she have raised Jess' body?" Sam asked, ignoring the pain of talking about her this way.  "There was no body left.  She must have been trying to raise her spirit.  And you can't make love to a spirit.  But she might have just been lonely without her."  His eyes dropped to the bed while he picked at the spread.  "I can understand the urge to bring her back, see her one more time.  She might have meant for it to be temporary, too.  There's still too much guesswork." 

"She also could have been irrational, Sam.  Maybe Melissa refused to believe there was nothing left to raise.  How the hell do we know?"  Dean dropped back to the bed, staring at the ceiling.  "Without being able to see Melissa's things, there's going to be a lot more guesswork.  We might be able to figure some things out if we can get at her stuff."

"Whatever she had with her, the police will have in evidence.  That's out of our reach for now.  And they probably took anything they thought was relevant from her apartment, too.  Still, they wouldn't necessarily know what to look for."  Sam smiled in slight embarrassment at Dean, knowing he wasn't telling Dean anything new. 

"Yeah," Dean croaked, not commenting on Sam's stating the obvious, though he was afraid he'd end up biting off his tongue, if he tiptoed around Sam this whole case.  "Where do you want to go next Sherlock?  Until we hear back from Bobby on the ritual, my stuff's a dead end."

Sam pointed at the rest of the case notes from the deaths. "We should go through these first. And look at where my other friends died." He sighed and tossed a sheath of paper to Dean. "Try these."

Dean caught the papers to his chest, groaning at the idea of doing more work. Not that he didn't understand the seriousness of it all, but this case had him feeling out of sorts. Dean chalked it up to being back in Palo Alto and the potential draw it might have for Sam.

Pushing himself upright, Dean started rifling through them. Nothing much jumped out on the first couple of pages, but he stopped to look at the details of where the second dead body was found.

"Why don't you go out, Dean? I'll read these and do some more research." Sam carried his papers to the table and began to read.

"It'll go faster with the two of us." Dean shuffled the pages together again and then shoved himself back against the headboard. He crossed his ankles and went back to studying the documents.

Sam nodded and read through Stewart's death- found sprawled in the middle of campus, mouth and eyes wide. "Stewart dated Jess when first they were at college. He was an art history major with a taste for partying. I never understood how they ever got along."

Dean looked up at Sam. "Why not? Cause he liked to party?"

"He was rough at the edges," Sam said with a wry little smile of memory. "Every other word was fuck or shit. But smart as anyone I ever met." He stared down at the pages unseeing. "Hard to imagine anything scaring him to death."

Dean raised an eyebrow and then shrugged and went back to his file. "This guy - Mark - looks like he died in his bed, head tilted back. Almost like something choked him."

"That's more like the way Melissa died," Sam said softly. He rifled through his pages, reading the details without finding much of interest. "But Stewart is completely different. No marks on him. And nobody saw or heard anything."

"Yeah, we've got nothing on Mark either as far as witnesses." Dean tilted his head at Sam, eyes narrowing at the tension lingering in his brother's shoulders.

Sam set down the papers and looked at Dean. "If she's killing off her friends, you know I have a large target on my forehead."

Tipping his head back, Dean sighed. "Yeah, and I'm of half a mind to get you the fuck out of this town." He looked back at Sam, shrugging and then going back to the papers. "Don't wanna fight you on it, so instead, you go nowhere without me to guard your back, Sam. Got it?"

Sam snorted and set the papers down. "Away from a hunt, Dean? I'm as liable to get killed in any hunt as this one. I was thinking merely that we might use me as bait to attract Jess. Not that it may be necessary. I'm bait anyway."

"Yeah, well, there's no need to stick you further in the middle of it." Dean scowled at the thought, swearing internally that Sam had to get this vision. All he wanted was to keep his brother safe and get them as far away from California as possible. Maine or Florida would be nice.

"My own abilities stuck me in the middle," Sam said softly. "As well as my past. You are the one who can leave this hunt, Dean, not me."

"I'm not leaving you behind. Ever." Dean huffed, and rifled through his papers. "I don't think there's much of anything in here that is going to be that helpful. The police didn't give much information on what else was at the scene."

"Melissa's shall be most helpful, I think," Sam said, opening her file. He scanned quickly, mumbling under his breath. "They have a list of things found in her apartment, including five books on witchcraft. They mostly look like junk, except for the last. Now, where would a college girl have found a copy of 'Psychomantium'?"

"Plotting to do bad things." Dean shook his head in disgust.

"You can't walk into a book store and ask for a copy of 'Pychomantium,' Dean," Sam said with a sigh. "She'd need a contact to get hold of the book."

"So, maybe she was being led to do bad things." Dean sighed and pressed a hand over his eyes, stomach suddenly grumbling. Dean rubbed at his belly and pulled out his cell phone to check the time.

Sam scrolled through more of the report, before grabbing a piece of paper and writing down a set of names. "She had several appointments before she went to Jess' grave. Maybe one of them is her contact." He ignored Dean's blatant hint that it was time to eat.

"Yeah? Anyone we can drop in on tonight?" Dean tucked the phone away, just short of pouting that Sam was being particularly obtuse.

"Have to find their addresses and statements in here," Sam muttered. He waved a hand at Dean. "Go get some food, if you want. Just bring me something green back."

Dean grunted, levered off the bed and dropped the papers on the table. He clasped Sam's shoulder with a hand. "No taking off without me, okay? I won't be long and can't help you if you take off on me."

"Why would I take off without you?" Sam asked, honestly bewildered. He looked up at Dean, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

"Just making sure, dude." Dean patted Sam's shoulder and then stomped into his boots, tying them off before yanking the door open. "Back soon, Sammy."

Sam watched his brother go, eyes narrowed now. Finally, he shrugged and returned to his research, trying to discover who had given Melissa the book. And then the blinding pain seared his temples, frying his synapses and sending him to the floor.

~~~~~~~

Sam's head still pounded when the Impala screeched to a stop in front of Stanford's main library. He vaulted out before the car's engine turned off and ran for the all night study room. His gun was tucked inside his shirt, just out of the sight of anyone who might be here this late. He did not pause to see if Dean followed, too intent on getting to Serena in time to stop the attack.

Dean swore at Sam's hasty departure, shutting off the engine and slamming out of the car. He took stock of the knife in his boot, the one at his back and the gun cradled, hidden in his hand. He'd shoved a few other trinkets in his pockets and vaulted up the stairs trying to track Sam's progression through the unfamiliar library.

The lights flickered on once Sam streaked into the study room. He followed the images from his vision, knowing exactly where to find Serena. A faint light appeared when he rounded the far corner of the room, into the graduate student area, and headed for the back corner. Drawing the gun, he knew he should slow down, take it careful, but all he could see was his vision of Serena's body- twisted and broken.

Putting on a burst of speed, Dean leapt the last few stairs and saw Sam turn the corner ahead. Head down, Dean's legs ate up the linoleum floor, boots clomping on the surface while he tried to catch Sam.

The light brightened, turned into a form, wretched and familiar. And then Sam tumbled over something on the floor, something he didn't see in his preoccupation. He rolled over sharp hardcover book corners, a pair of legs and the hard floor, before landing on his back and staring straight up... into Jess' eyes. They stared at him, wide and cold, before something flickered in their blank depths- recognition. She opened her mouth, lifted her hands, and Sam shot her with rock salt.

Dean skidded to a stop, mouth open to scream for Sammy to shoot just a second before Sam actually did. He watched Jess' figure flicker and then scatter into the non-existent wind. Panting, Dean moved to Sam and looked down at him. "You okay, Sam?"

Sam looked wildly at his brother and then back over his shoulder, where Serena lay exactly how he'd seen in the vision. "We're too fucking late," he whispered. "Too fucking late!" His voice rose into a shout. "What the fuck good are these fucking visions if I can't even get here in time?" He hauled himself to his feet. "What good are being a freak and a fucking hunter when you can't even stop your girlfriend from being fried on the ceiling and then turned into a vengeful spirit who goes around murdering her own friends?"

Dean grabbed Sam and tugged him in for a slightly awkward, but heartfelt hug. "We're going to get this, Sam. We will. I'm sorry we didn't get here in time for Serena."

Sam shook his head, but wrapped his arms around Dean and held on tightly for a moment. He pushed off, holding up the gun and looking around. "We can't stay here. There's nothing we can do for Serena, and Jess might come back. And you can't be found with another dead girl." He looked at her for a second, face twisted with mourning, recrimination and self-loathing.

"We'll figure this out, Sam." Dean grasped Sam around the bicep and tugged to encourage him to move.

Sam stumbled a little at the first tug, but then trudged out of the library. "At least one good thing came out of this," he said softly. "Jess knows I'm here now. She won't go after anyone else until I'm dead.

"We'll work this one out, Sam," Dean repeated, trying to clamp down on the fear in his stomach. We'll put her to rest, relieve Jess of her anger." He knew of no other way to reassure Sam.

Sam nodded again without any conviction. "Before the vision struck, I was sorting through the police's notes on Melissa's appointments. Only one of them didn't seem to fit- she saw someone named Misery Haltings on Wednesday. The police took her statement, but she just said Melissa picked up some books from her for school. Only, there's no reason Melissa would have to go off campus to get her books."

"Except to get something that the school can't provide." Dean rubbed his face and then rolled his shoulders. "And of course, the idiots of the police department never bothered to check any further than that.

Sam sighed and pushed open the exit door, tumbling into the night air gratefully. "They wouldn't have any reason to doubt her explanation. Especially if she did give Melissa a bunch of books, one of which happened to be a real spell book. We need to get a copy of 'Pyschomantium' and see if we can find the spell she used."

"And what do you think the chances are that it's still in her room and we can get to it?" Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, knowing the possibility was low. He let the door slam shut behind him and strode past Sam to get to the car first. Stroking once over the roof, he patted it and then opened his door.

"Unless she memorized the spell, she took it to the grave and the police have it." Sam crawled into the Impala, trying to keep his mind focused on the mundanes of hunting and forget the vision of Jess, features twisted with hatred as she reached for him. "We need to put out word to the right people that we're looking for one."

Dean settled in the driver's seat, starting the engine and smiling slightly at the low purr. "You think you can do that? You have an idea of who to talk with? Or, are you thinking of talking to this Misery woman?" He eased them out of the library lot, speeding them as far away from the library before Serena's body was found.

"I did some research while I was here, Dean, as unbelievable as that sounds," Sam said, voice low and wounded. "I know who to contact."

"Jesus, Sam!" Dean pounded the steering wheel. "That's not what I meant, Sammy."

Sam flinched and leaned against the door. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, Dean." He took a few, deep, calming breaths. "There's a Wiccan group that's trustworthy and who might know where to get black magic items, if one was looking. Who knows, Melissa may have tried them first."

Dean took a couple of heaving breaths and forced himself to calm down before he spoke. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea, Sam. I wouldn't be surprised if she did try them first. It would certainly be a more familiar ground, right?"

"Well, they'd feel safer for someone who's never been involved in magic and the supernatural before," Sam agreed. He shoved himself harder against the door and tried to mold himself into the comforting metal and glass.

"True enough." Dean looked quickly at Sam and then turned back to the road. "We need to go back to the motel? Or, do you have an address on you?"

"I need to look them up. Never thought I'd need that information again. But I have it on my laptop somewhere." Sam reached out unconsciously for Dean, seeking reassurance, while his mind rehashed all the circumstances of his retreat to and from Stanford. His hand settled on Dean's leg, resting there.

Looking down for a brief moment, Dean saw Sam's hand on his thigh and had to bite his tongue and steel himself to keep from shaking. "To the motel, it is." Dean focused back on the road, though the short trip certainly didn't require that much concentration.

"Won't take me long to find it and send them a message. I'll track down Misery, too." Sam settled his head against the door, hand tightening into the firm curve of Dean's leg. "We can talk to them all tomorrow. I can't go anymore tonight."

"If that's what you want, Sam." Dean's thigh twitched slightly at Sam's grip, but he bit his lip to keep from commenting. "You want any food?"

"Yeah. The stuff you brought back, will it have gone bad?" Sam did not feel up to going to a diner. He wanted the motel room, his bed and Dean.

"Probably not." Dean had grabbed a few sandwiches, with snacks as sides. And beer, of course. Dean grinned at Sam. "We should be good when we get back."

Sam nodded in relief and sighed, body relaxing a fraction. "Serena asked me out before I met Jess. She and I were never really compatible. You woulda liked her, though. She was an animal about sex. Always wanted to settle down and have kids, though." He laughed sadly.

"Animal, huh? Too much for you? Or not compatible in other ways?" Dean wondered if Jess had been boring in bed, and if Sam had been happy with that part of their life. Dean stopped that train of thought before he got thinking about his brother and sex.

"I met Jess and that was it for everyone else. I loved her from the first." Sam tightened his fingers again, drawing comfort. "She was my other half. Except..." He paused and looked over at Dean. "Not the same way you are."

Dean blinked. He was Sam's other half, but not in the way Jess was? That confused the hell out of him, so Dean let the comment go. "I'm glad you met her and sorry that you lost her."

"I thought I was getting over it all, you know. Resigned to being a Winchester, on the road, hunting things, never stopping until we get killed. But this... just brings it all back, you know? Not just having lost Jess, but all the things I dreamed about, too." Sam tapped on the window with one hand, the other still gripping Dean.

"If I'd had a choice, you'd never have seen this place again, Sam. Not once in the rest of your life." The last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to see what he was missing, miss those things even more and maybe leave Dean again for them.

"Yeah. Me, too." Sam shifted to look at Dean, hand sliding up an inch or two. "But I knew, somehow, that I'd be back here, Dean. That things weren't done with me here. I used to see Jess, you know. When you and I were first back together. I'd look across the street or out a window, and she'd be standing there, all in white, smiling at me."

The thought of Sam seeing a woman in white made Dean's blood run cold and completely wiped out the fact that his hand had gravitated north. "You saw her? In white?"

"It was a long time ago, Dean. And she's chasing me for real now anyway, so it hardly matters." Sam drew his hand off Dean to run both hands through his hair.

Dean pulled into the motel parking lot, his leg acutely aware of Sam's missing hand. "I guess not. We'll just have to make sure she doesn't find you."

"Until we figure out how to stop her. And then we have to make sure she knows where to find me," Sam said. "But I don't think that will be a problem."

"Yeah, somehow I think she'll be able to find you no matter where you are." Dean cut the engine and looked over at Sammy. His eyes scanned his brother's face. "Let's get inside and rest for tomorrow." He opened the door and climbed out of the Impala, waiting for Sam.

Sam met Dean's eyes squarely, not trying to disguise the pain and loneliness in them. "I need to finish the research for tomorrow," he said softly. He heaved himself out of the Impala and headed for the motel door. "We'll head for the Sisters of Serenity tomorrow."

"You'll eat first, because it's what you need to keep up your strength to do the research." Dean's tone brooked no argument, though Sam hadn't really done what he'd said for years now.

For once, Sam felt warm that Dean cared about him and smiled over his shoulder. "Yeah, I know. I'll eat while I'm working on the computer. Did you get me some vegetables?"

Dean scoffed. "Do chips count? They were potatoes once." He chuckled and nudged Sam toward the room, hands shoved in his pockets.

Sam sighed and hunched his shoulders. "Oh, ok." He opened the door and headed for his laptop, knowing Dean would lay the salt lines and other protective wards.

Sighing at Sam's easy acceptance, Dean went about the nightly tasks of locking the place down. When everything was the way it should be, he went to the mini fridge and grabbed the sandwiches, beer and yes, bag of salad he'd bought for Sam. "Dinner's ready, Sammy-boy."

Sam looked at the salad, and his smile was blinding. "You got me salad." He sat down across from Dean and dug into his food. "I love you, man."

"Love you too, Sammy." And of course, he bought Sam salad. Dean dropped next to Sam, digging into his sandwich and chips. Sipping at his beer, he groaned happily.

Sam took his salad back to the laptop and started pounding away again. He alternated between shoveling lettuce in his mouth and typing. Finally, he leaned back and jotted something down on a scrap of paper. "They'll see us tomorrow."

"They will?" Dean looked up from his sandwich, chewing and finally swallowing before drinking his beer again.

"They may have an idea where Melissa got the book. Might even be able to help us put Jess to rest." Sam fixed stern eyes on Dean. "No cracks about witchcraft or lesbians when we're there."

Opening his mouth to protest, Dean finally closed it and frowned. "Fine...maybe I should stay in the car, if I'm not allowed to talk."

"So, you're going to let me go in alone?" Sam asked all innocence.

"Fuck no," Dean grumbled again and bit viciously at his sandwich, chewing it with intent while glaring at Sam.

"I don't believe that's all you have to say anyway," Sam said with a little smile for Dean. "You can control your mouth for once."

Grumbling again, Dean kept eating his sandwich and didn't deign to answer. He wasn't at all sure he'd be able to control his mouth. A lot depended on how they treated Sam.

Sam carried his salad back over to Dean and sat down again. "I got Misery's address, too." He stole a couple of chips. "Vegetables, right?"

"Yeah, vegetables." Dean beamed at Sam and finished off his sandwich in one bite. He still had half a beer, and Sam looked far more relaxed than he'd been in the past three days.

Sam nudged Dean once with his knee and headed for the bathroom. "I'm going to get my shower and go to bed. Thanks, man."

Dean nodded at Sam and then got up to dump his trash in the garbage. While Sam was in the shower, he stripped out of his clothes and climbed under the covers of his motel bed, wearing only his boxer briefs. He lay there, listening for Sam and waiting for him to come back out.

Sam came out, wearing only his towel, and dug through his duffle bag. He tugged on his boxers and a t-shirt, before sliding under the covers. "Good night, Dean."

Rolling to his back as soon as Sam emerged without clothes, Dean closed his eyes and breathed out. It took considerable effort to keep from staring at Sam, to watch him slip into his clothes and then curl in bed, but Dean knew that he shouldn't allow himself the guilty pleasure of even a glimpse. The last thing he wanted was to send Sam running from him again. "Goodnight, Sammy."

~~~~~~~~

Body, mind and soul weary from the events of the past few days, Sam slipped into sleep almost instantly. For about four hours, he managed a deep, dreamless rest, but about one a.m., images began to fill his head. He shifted restlessly on the sheets, moaning softly. As the images became more vivid, Sam thrashed and cried out loudly.

Dean woke as soon Sam started thrashing. He pushed up in bed, rubbing a hand over his face and looking over to his brother's bed. "Sam? You okay, Sammy?"

Sam's body flopped around, tangling him in the sheets. His voice rose even louder, reverberating off the walls. The images intensified- Jess reached for him from the ceiling, hands aflame. "Jess!"

Flying into action, Dean flung himself from his bed to Sam's, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and trying to hold on to him. "Sammy, wake up. C'mon, Sammy. It's just a nightmare, you need to wake up."

Jess grabbed him by the shoulders, tried to hold him down, set him aflame. Sam fought, trying to throw Jess off. "Please, Jess. Please! I'm sorry. Please!"

"Damn it, Sam! Wake up!" Dean held him tight and then shook him hard. "C'mon and wake up now, Sammy!"

A familiar voice echoed in Sam's dreams, pulling him back toward reality. He struggled toward consciousness, away from his grisly dreams. Eyes dragging open, he found himself in his bed, wrapped in Dean's arms. "Dean. Oh God, Jess." He grabbed hold of Dean, squeezing his brother close.

Dean breathed out when Sam's eyes registered reality instead of dream and held tight to his brother while Sam clung to him. "It's okay. I've got you and the visions of Jess were just a nightmare." He rocked Sam a bit, slowly and unconsciously trying to get Sam to relax again.

Sam slid his hands down to grip Dean more tightly, burying his face in Dean's neck. "Dean," he said, "they're worse than before. Worse than ever. Don't leave me, Dean."

"I've got you, Sam. Not going anywhere. Right here." Dean murmured the words quietly, rocking Sam gently. He stroked one hand down Sam's back and held his shoulder in a fierce grip.

Sam sobbed into the warm skin, wrapping his legs around Dean to tighten his hold even more. "I killed her, Dean. It's my fault. I should let her get me."

Dean's heart broke all over again for Sam. "You didn't kill her...it's not your fault." He stroked Sam's back, hugging him tighter and thought of how he'd dispatch Jess to hell.

The words bounced out of Sam's ears, not making any sense to him in his current state. He just knew he needed Dean near, his only stability in a world gone mad. His fingers gripped into strong shoulders. "Don't go, Dean. Stay here?"

"Not leaving, Sam. Right here." Dean continued to rock, hoping his brother would calm enough to sink back into his bed.

Sam's lips brushed against Dean's neck when he pressed in tighter. "Can't take this much longer, Dean. Visions, nightmares, Jess' ghost killing our friends. I don't want this life."

Dean closed his eyes, breath shuddering out at the feel of Sam's lips on his skin. "I know, Sam. I wish you'd never had to live this life."

"You brought me back into it," Sam said without accusation. He sighed and settled back into the pillows, holding on to Dean. "And now I need you."

Opening his eyes, Dean simply nodded and settled onto the bed next to him. "I'm sorry, Sam," he murmured, tugging so that his brother lay curled into and around him. "I never meant for this to happen."

Sam nodded and huffed a warm breath over the moist spot he'd left a moment before. "I know, Dean. I know." He rolled until he was completely comfortable in Dean's arms. He rubbed his hands over and over Dean's back and side, drawing more comfort from the touches.

Dean huffed out a breath and closed his eyes again, hand stroking slow and gentle over Sam's back while praying that his brother was able to find some sleep against. He'd stand guard and watch over him.

The hands on his back soothed Sam to the point where his body relaxed again, wanting more sleep. But even with Dean close, images of Jess haunted him when his eyes closed. "Dean?" he whispered softly. "Do you remember how you used to get me to sleep? When I was little."

Laughing softly, Dean nodded. "Yeah, course I do, Sammy-boy. It was the only way you'd go to sleep for a long, long time." He shifted slightly, just enough to be able to trace the letters of their names into Sam's lower back. For years, Dean had spelled out dad's name, mom's name and both of their names while singing their mother's favorite lullaby to Sam. He stopped wanting the sleep ritual somewhere about fourth or fifth grade, and Dean had missed it since then.

Sam sighed and pressed his mouth against Dean's skin again. He closed his eyes and let the feel of Dean's hands and the sound of his voice lull him into a warm sense of security. "You're the only one who can take care of me."

The thought both warmed and chilled Dean. He loved that he could care for Sam, but also hated that Sam felt so isolated and so incapable of being cared for by someone else. Dean knew that wasn't the case with Jess and there were times (especially now) when Dean wished that Sam still had that and had her and that Dean could have just continued to bury his feelings between the legs of the willing people he met on the road.

"Love you, Dean," Sam mumbled as his eyes slid closed, and he drifted into blissfully dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~

Sam led Dean into the Sisters of Serenity's meeting place with trepidation. Despite his brother's promise not to make any remarks, he knew the crystal balls, gemstones, earth tones and statuary would tickle his brother's funny bone. And despite outward appearances, the Sisters were not to be taken lightly. They could and would bring down the whammy on anyone who riled them. "You promised."

Dean opened his mouth and then shut it with an audible clack. "Fine. I promised." He clenched his teeth and fisted his hand in his jean pockets. "I'll let you do all that talking."

Sam nodded and turned when a matronly figure dressed in a diaphanous gown swirled in. He smiled at her brightly, trying to broadcast how grateful they were for an audience. "I'm-"

"Sam and Dean Winchester," she said with a dreamy wave of her hand. "I am Penelope. You wish to know about your friend, Melissa, who has done a very terrible thing."

Watching Penelope swirl into the room, it took everything Dean had to not snort. When she brought out their and Melissa's names, he tensed and furrowed his brows slightly.

"Yeah," Sam said with a nod. "She- uh, raised a friend of mine and seems to have brought her back wrong."

"There is no way to bring back the dead right, Sam Winchester. Melissa came to us some weeks ago to ask for a spell to raise the dead. We naturally told her that such things were not a part of the magic we practice." Penelope swirled to the other side of the room, picking up one of the crystals. "We specialize in bringing the world into harmony, not ripping it apart."

That caused Dean to snort, hands coming out of his pockets so he could cross his arms over his chest. He didn't believe that magic could ever be used for good purposes.

Penelope shot Dean a glare and then arched an eyebrow. "A disbeliever, I see." She turned back to Sam. "We sent Melissa on her way, but there are other ways of gaining the knowledge she sought. People more interested in profit than the dangers of unleashing evil on this world."

Sam grimaced slightly at Dean's reaction and tried his best to look charming when Penelope returned her attention to him. "Do you know what spell she tried?"

Penelope nodded once. "We attempted to counteract the effects, but the Invocation of Balberith is a powerful spell. And one that even the most experienced spell caster would hesitate to attempt."

"Which is why Melissa is now dead, and Jess is taking others out left and right." Dean grumbled, uncrossing his arms and pacing slightly from her perch near the door.

Penelope merely nodded once. "She returned strong and angry. And to counteract the spell, you will need the 'Psychomantium.' Only through its powers can your Jess be returned to her grave. Until then she has all the weaknesses of a normal spirit, except that you cannot salt and burn her remains."

Dean stopped at that and looked speculatively at Penelope. "You mean iron'll still work? And salt?"

"To temporarily drive her away, but no more than that. And your Sam will draw her as a fly to honey. His aura is further darkened and disturbed by her desire to destroy him." Penelope fiddled through the drawers of a small bureau and pulled out an amulet in the shape of a hand with a dull red stone inset in the middle. "This shall slow her attacks, but she is powerful enough to destroy you despite the protection this offers." She held it out to Sam, who took it and slipped it over his head without question.

"Thank you," Sam said softly, running his hand over the amulet.

Glaring at the amulet around Sam's neck, Dean cleared his throat and looked at Penelope. "Why does she want to destroy him?"

"She is destroying all vestiges of her life. All those close to her. And who closer than Sam? Who closer than the one who brought death to her door?"

Sam hung his head and nodded once, accepting the words as truth.

"Damn it." Dean wheeled on them both. "It wasn't Sam's fault, not in the least." He glowered at the suggestion that it might've been. "The only thing responsible is the demon."

Penelope smiled at him. "Always the brave protector. Ready to jump in front of any bullet aimed at your Sammy. Your aura is so much lighter than his and always has been." She folded her hands together. "Obtaining another copy of what you seek shall not be easy. The police keep the copy they found under lock and key, but that may yet be your best bet for obtaining the 'Psychomantium'."

Sam lifted his head and sighed. "I don't suppose you can make Dean's rap sheet go away?"

Penelope laughed and shook her head. "I fear such things are beyond our abilities. I can offer you nothing more than what has already been given. Take it with our blessings and wishes for luck. Bringing Jessica to rest will be a good deed for many a reason." Penelope inclined her head and disappeared back through the curtains.

Sam looked at Dean and gestured for them to leave. As they walked out the door, he said, "I have to get the book alone, Dean."

"No way, Sam, I'm not letting you take that chance." Dean looked back at the building they'd just left and sighed.

"You can't break into a police station. Murder charge sound familiar to you? Bad enough if I get caught but you..." Sam shook his head firmly. "And I'll take all the right protections, keep Jess away long enough to get the book."

Dean shook his head again. "There's no way either of us can go in there alone. We need to do this together...it's the best way to make sure it works out right."

Sam looked away, tension tight in his shoulders and back. "Twice as likely to get caught with two of us, too," he said. "I am not fucking losing you to a needle in your arm, Dean, not after surviving all this other crap!"

Sighing, Dean led Sam to the car, not exactly stomping, but not walking softly either. "The last thing I want is to go anywhere, Sam, but if you get caught alone, you're vulnerable to Jess."

Sam banged his head against the Impala. Stalemate. His brother would never let him out of his sight while Jess hunted him. Which left them no option but to break in together and pray the police did not catch them. Cause Jess would have every option to tear him to bits while he was unprotected in a holding cell, and no jury in the world would settle for anything less than the death penalty for Dean. "I **really** hate my life."

"Yeah, I know you do, Sam." And if Dean could, he'd give Sam everything. As much as he wanted his brother with him, Dean began to realize that he needed to let his brother go find the life he wanted.

Sam lifted tired eyes to Dean's. "One break. Is that too much to ask?" He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I don't know how you manage it, Dean. Penelope said that your aura is light, pure. How do you get through all this crap without ending up as dark as I am?"

Dean blushed, rubbing at the back of his neck and shrugged. "I don't have a clue what she was rambling about, Sammy." He moved to the driver's door and tugged it open, hand resting on the roof. "I'm just me, and I do what I have to do to get through it all.

Sam snorted and climbed into the car. "You were born for this, Dean. I just made sure you ended up here."

Wrinkling his brow, Dean slid into the car and shut the door. "None of it's your fault, Sam."

"For whatever reason, I bring the evil, Dean. Once you might wave off, but twice is too often. And because of the demon, dad went crazy and became a hunter and took us along for the ride. And you- you were always all right with it all. But I've never been, not since I really understood what it meant." Sam sighed and wiped his eyes again. "But I won't leave you out here all alone."

And that was the reason Dean would have to leave without Sammy knowing. Once they'd dealt with the demon, he'd let Sam head off to his own life. "Maybe someday this'll all be over, Sammy. It's what we're trying to do."

"Evil won't vanish, Dean. It'll always be out there. And you'll always want to fight it." Sam leaned back in his seat, propping his chin in one hand. "And I'll always be tagging along with you."

Not if he could help it, but Dean knew better than to continue that conversation. "Back to the room, Sam? Or is there somewhere else we need to go?"

"We need to plan how to break into the police evidence lockers," Sam said, "and that's going to take me a hell of a lot of research. So, library. I jut hope they have some building plans."

Dean nodded, started the car, put it in gear and headed them toward the library.

~~~~~~~

Sam should have expected the attack, but when Jess appeared right next to him while they strolled back to the Impala after an insipid dinner at yet another greasy spoon, he merely gaped in shock. And went pile driving face first into the asphalt when she hit him with strength any defensive lineman would have killed for.

Dean trailed a few extra steps behind Sam, unable to resist winking at the waitress one more time and tucking the napkin with a phone number he'd never call into his pocket. He turned when Sam went skidding down, hollering to get Jessica's attention. She never took her gaze off Sam.

Rolling over on his side, Sam reached for his gun, but ended up with empty air instead. He rolled to his feet, eyes desperately searching the ground and finding his gun lying across the pavement. Looking up at Dean, Sam opened his mouth to tell him that his gun had been lost, when Jess jabbed a fist right through his chest. He gasped in sick shock, the pain worse than the time the Woman in White had grabbed at his heart.

"Sam!" Dean tore across the pavement, fast as he could, gun drawn from the back of his pants and iron blade pulled from its sheath. "Sam! Drop! I need a clear shot." He leveled the gun and kept running, hoping that Sam could move out of his way.

The amulet flared suddenly, hot and sharp, and Jess shrieked, her hands yanking back from his chest. She struck him across the face, blood splattering the ground, even when he hit the asphalt again. "Shoot her, Dean!" he yelled through a mouthful of copper.

Dean didn't hesitate. As soon as Sam was out of range, he shot Jess square in the torso with a round of salt and watched her flicker out. He knew better than to assume that she was gone, not with one shot, so he loaded another round in the chamber and dropped to one knee to haul Sam to his feet. "Get in the car, Sam. Now!"

Sam did not bother to answer, just scrambled to his feet and made a beeline for the Impala. He made it twenty feet before Jess appeared again, beautiful face twisted with an even more insane rage than before. He dove for the ground, rolling under her strike and scrambled along on his hands and knees.

Shouting obscenities at Jess, Dean charged her and shot another round of rock salt at her, wincing when it sliced through her and into his car. That was going to hurt, and Dean would have to make it up to his baby later. "C'mon Sam, move. She's not giving up easy, and I want you back at the motel." Dean spun back around, moving backward toward the car with a full turn every so many feet to keep his eyes on their surroundings.

Sam winced and scrambled back up to his feet, sprinting full out for the Impala.  He hated to see his brother blow chunks of salt through his beloved car and didn't want to give Jess another chance to attack.  Vaulting across the hood, he grabbed for his handle and was struck in the side.  Hitting the ground with Jess on top of him, clawing at his throat, Sam fought for his breath.  He felt the amulet flare again, causing Jess to shriek and pull back.  "Get away from me!" he yelled hoarsely, hating himself even as he did.

Rounding the car, Dean yelled for Sam to duck again and shot off another round of salt before yanking the door open and shoving Sam inside.  He wasn't at all sure that his baby would protect Sam from Jess and wanted to get the hell out of there.  With the door closed behind Sam, Dean sprinted to his door and slid behind the wheel.  Dean had the car started and in gear in seconds, peeling out of the parking lot and hoping that Jess couldn't get at them now.

Sam slammed into the side of the door as Dean pulled out of the parking lot.  His nose and mouth dripped blood freely, and he cupped his hands under them to prevent getting it all over the interior.  "Fuck.  Shoulda seen that coming, Dean." 

"Why do you think I had everything under my coat?"  Not that it had done much good since Sam was torn up, but Dean felt some satisfaction that he'd shot her a couple of times.  He was surprised that the charm Penelope gave Sam worked and was grateful that she'd been willing to hand it over.  "Won't be happy until I have you behind the salt lines."

"Did you pick up my gun, Dean?  It came out during the struggle."  Sam's voice and body shook.  He tried to force himself to calm down, but the image of Jess' face while she attacked him made the effort impossible.  "She- I told her to get away from me.  I never told her that before.  Oh fuck."

"You had no choice, Sam.  It's not really, Jess.  You know that."   Dean reached over and patted Sam's knee awkwardly before putting both hands back on the wheel.  "I grabbed your gun, don't worry about it."

When Dean's hand left, Sam slid over to settle one bloody hand on Dean's leg, leaving a print.  With the other, he fastened his belt and then grabbed a rag to clean off the worst of the damage.  "It's whatever remains of her that Melissa brought back," he whispered. 

"Which is not her.  Even Penelope said you can't bring people back right - so, that was not Jess."  Dean looked down at Sam's hand, gulping and trying not to think about it.  Yeah, right...not think about Sam's hand on his leg for the second day in a row.

Sam swallowed hard and nodded, squeezing Dean's leg in thanks.  "It's just a nightmare of a nightmare," he said.  "Bad enough to dream of her burning on the ceiling, without adding her tormented spirit attacking me."  He breathed out sharply.  "We need that book, Dean.  The thought of her stuck like this... it hurts worse than the physical attacks."

Dean sighed, hand coming down to pat Sam's.  "We can go tonight, if you want.  I just want this to be over for you."

Sam shook his head.  "I need to finish putting together a plan from the building schematics I got today.  And we need some ideas for how to get you in without being recognized."  He turned his fingers to catch Dean's hand, entwining them together.  "Tomorrow's Halloween."

Gulping, Dean looked at Sam's hand and then back at the road.  He curled his fingers slightly into Sam's and left them there, trying not to breathe faster at the touch.  Sam hadn't held his hand since he was able to cross the street on his own, a good fifteen years before.  "I'm not wearing a costume, Sam.  So, get that right out of your mind."

Sam shook his head.  "You showed up on Halloween, a year ago, to tear me out of my stupid little dreams."  He stroked Dean's fingers with his own.  "Gave me another reason to hate Halloween.  And if we're lucky, tomorrow night, we can lay Jess to rest.  And give me another reason." 

Dean sighed, hating that so much bad had happened to Sam around this time of year.   Jess burned the same day as their mother, so it was no wonder Sam wanted nothing to do with this time of year or their work.  Dean decided to give considerable thought into leaving Sam to find a real life - something he wanted to do without Dean there to contaminate it.  He'd keep tabs on Sam, like he did before, but knew he needed to be strong enough to leave his brother to a life he could find happiness in.

Sam straightened when they reached the motel, but kept his grip on Dean's hand.  "Guess we're going to have to make a run for the motel room.  Hope the salt lines keep her out."

"I want you to run first, Sam.  Just get your ass there and get inside those lines.  Check them all."  Dean pulled into the spot, parking and shutting off the car.  "Take your gun and be ready, but get inside.  I'll cover you from out here and follow.  Okay?"  He turned to look at his brother, fingers tightening to make him realize how serious Dean was.

Sam squeezed back and smiled a little for Dean.  "Good plan, big bro."  He took a deep breath, accepted his gun from Dean, threw open the car door and raced for the motel room.  He fumbled momentarily with the lock, and then fell inside.  Keeping his gun ready, he checked the salt lines and got out of the way so Dean could get in.

Surprised that Jess didn't show up, Dean took it for the blessing it was and ran backward into the room.  He stepped over the lines and slammed the door shut.  "Think we should be okay now, Sammy.  She didn't like the salt in the guns, so she likely can't cross our lines.  Get settled while I check them all to be sure they're in place."  Without waiting for agreement, Dean went straight for the window closest to him and started to double check their lines.

Sam sat on the bed, covered in blood and dead tired, but smiling at Dean's fussing. He felt warm, cared for, and that pushed away the awful ache of Jess' haunting and the deaths of his friends.  He had Dean and would never be alone.  "Can you help me clean up?" he asked softly, knowing Dean seldom refused him anything.  He didn't need help, but he wanted Dean's warm hands soothing the wounds.

Startled, Dean turned from the window, an excuse ready on his lips.  He bit it back at the expression on Sam's face and nodded.  "Of course, Sammy.  Let me finish the lines."  Once he was certain that he'd checked them all, completed them, Dean turned back to Sam and walked to his side.  "Let me see what she did to you, Sam."

Sam lifted his face toward Dean. "You tell me what it looks like, Dean." He reached down and began pulling off shirts, thinking of Jess' hands on and in his chest.

"You're looking a bit rough around the edges, but nothing we can't fix." Dean smiled, lopsided and reached out a gentle hand to trail over the side of his face. He grunted when he saw the scorch marks on Sam's chest, worst at the edges away from the amulet. Reaching down to lightly skim the edge of the worst part of the burn and Dean was pulling back to find the first aid kit and the burn cream they had.

Sam's eyes fluttered shut when Dean's fingers traced over his wounds. "Would you take care of them?" Sam asked, voice soft and hopeful.

"Of course." Dean moved back to the bed with the burn cream and bandages and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Check your legs while I get a washcloth."

Sam glanced down at his legs and then removed his shoes, socks and pants. His legs were scratched and bruised, but nothing worse. "They're not bad, Dean. Just a few bruises and scratches. It's my face that hurts."

"Yeah, and it's going to for a bit." Dean called from the bathroom, yelling over the running water. "She really went for the cheekbones. They hurt like a bitch and bloom up colorful." He walked back to Sam, wet washcloth and a dry towel in hand. "You sure you don't want to get this on your own?"

Sam's eyes turned toward the floor. "Sure, if you prefer." He reached for the towels without expression.

Dean stopped Sam's hand, curling around it and bringing it back to rest in his lap. He reached out and tilted Sam's face up. "Don't do this because you think you should. If you want me to fix you up, I will." His smile was soft, caring and just a bit exasperated by Sam's misunderstanding him.

Sam rubbed his chin against Dean's gentle hand. "I want you to fix me up, Dean," he said softly. "Please."

Dean rubbed Sam's face gently and then pulled back to get the washcloth. He held Sam's chin, gently dabbed at the blood dotting Sam's face and then swiped the towel gently over his chest and arms before tossing the cloth in the general direction of the bathroom. Dean took the other towel and slowly dried Sam off, cleaning him up and then putting it to the side. "Doing okay so far?"

Sam sighed and rested his chin even more firmly in Dean's hand. "Yeah. Always feel better when you take care of me." He winced when the burn marks stung. "Burns are a bit painful."

"Yeah, they are." Dean reached down for the burn cream and opened the tube, slathering a decent layer over the burns on Sam's chest. They were red and inflamed, but hopefully light enough they wouldn't hurt Sam for too long. Jess had done a number on him, and Dean hoped he had a shot at her to pay her back for the damage. "Does that hurt too much?"

Sam sighed and pushed against the gentle touches, allowing himself to enjoy the sensation. "It feels good, Dean. Don't stop."

"Okay." Dean grinned and pulled his hands back to grab the bandages, taping a couple of them over the largest section of the chest burns. He took Sam's chin in his hand again, tilting his face left and right. "I don't think there's anything we can really do for your face. It's just a bunch of large bruises, no actual cuts. You want me to get you some raw steak, Sammy?"

Sam covered Dean's hand with his own and nuzzled into it slightly. "Nah, it's all right. I just want to curl up and sleep for awhile." He looked up at Dean and smiled. "After a shower."

Dean chuckled and stroked his thumb over Sam's cheek gently. "Yeah, you should get cleaned up...though maybe we should have had you do that _before_ we bandaged you." Dean dropped his hand to his side and then backed up to tug off his boots.

"Oh." Sam blushed and felt stupid. "I guess I'll shower in the morning then." He stretched and winced slightly at the pull on his wounds. "I got lucky, Dean. Without this charm-" he fingered the amulet "-she would have ripped my heart right out. I think that's what she meant to do."

Wincing, Dean nodded. "Yeah, we'll have to thank Penelope when this is all over." He stepped in and pressed his hand on Sam's shoulder, bringing him in for a gentle hug.

Startled and then warmed by the hug, Sam wrapped himself around Dean and hung on. He settled his forehead into Dean's shoulder and sighed once. "I don't want to go to bed alone, Dean."

"You don't...oh, okay. Sure. You want to slide into bed and then I'll climb in once I'm clean." Dean rubbed Sam's back, sliding his large hand up and down one of the few uninjured areas.

Sam sighed and released Dean, scooting up to rest his head on the pillows. He relaxed completely in Dean's presence. "I can't sleep unless you're with me, Dean."

Dean nodded. "Just rest for a minute, and I'll be back." He swiped a hand over Sam's foot before moving into the bathroom to get showered and into his sweat pants and tee shirt. When he came back out, he grinned at the way Sam snuggled into the bed. "You still awake, Sam?" he whispered.

Sam lifted his head and smiled sleepily at Dean. "Waiting for you, Dean. Come here?"

"Of course, Sammy." Dean went to the door, double checked the lock and then flipped the light switch. He moved back to the bed and slid under the sheets, laying on his back and resting into the pillows. "I'm here."

Sam rolled over and laid his arm across Dean's chest, pulling himself close. He laid his head on Dean's shoulder and blew out a long breath of contentment. He kept his weight on his side, off the burns. "I couldn't survive without you, Dean."

Blinking, Dean opened his mouth to deny it, but found himself stymied by Sam's arm around him. "You doing okay, Sammy?"

Sam's arm tightened in response. "No. It's been too much, stirring up everything that I wanted to forget. And on top of dad..." He choked softly and pressed his mouth to Dean's neck. "You're all I have, Dean."

Dean patted Sam's back, letting the arm under his brother curl around him to offer comfort and protection. "I'm sorry we had to come back here, Sam. That you had to deal with all of this." Dean's free hand waved at the room around them.

Sam shook his head and pressed his mouth against Dean's neck again, closer to the pulse point. "Not your fault either."

Dean shuddered, arm tightening around Sam in reflex at the feel of his breath and lips ghosting over Dean's skin. It was too much. Dean turned his head to rest his cheek on top of Sam's head. This wasn't something he could or would ever have, and Dean had to remind himself of that with every breath.

Sam put a hand on Dean's cheek and turned his face gently toward his own. "Dean. Let me." He pressed his mouth over Dean's nose, cheeks and lips.

Startling, Dean gasped, head tilting away from Sam. "Sam…what?"

"Dean, please?" Sam asked, voice trembling. He leaned forward to slide his lips over Dean's face again.

"What do you want, Sam?" Dean breathed out the question, heart slamming in his ribs at the way Sam dragged soft lips over the ragged stubble of Dean's chin.

"You, Dean. Want you." Sam nibbled on Dean's lower lip, before licking gently. He pressed closer to him, hips thrusting gently. "Please."

Dean went rigid, shocked at Sam's overtures, body shaking from the denial he forced himself into. "Sam...you don't want this. Not really." He shook, hands coming up to pull Sam's face from his and hold him slightly at bay. "You don't want me."

"I do. I do, Dean. Please." Sam turned his head to press kisses to Dean's hand and fingers. "Don't push me away." He rubbed his hands over Dean's back and sides.

Letting Sam touch him, Dean closed his eyes and drank in the sensations. It was something he'd wanted for years and years, something he'd never get. Now, Sam offered himself on a silver platter and all Dean felt was guilt, shame and fear. If he let Sam do this, Dean would lose him.

Mistaking the stillness for acceptance, Sam pressed forward and kissed in earnest- tongue, lips and teeth working in tandem. He hooked one leg over Dean's and pulled until they were flush. "Want you in me, Dean. Need you."

Dean let Sam kiss him, responding for a few moments. He allowed himself to enjoy what little he could before pulling away and rolling Sam onto his back. Leaning over Sam, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "Easy, Sam."

Sam stared up at Dean, trust and love in his eyes. He stroked his cheek with a big hand, enjoying the feel of stubble covering soft skin. His other spread over Dean's lower back, encouraging him to lie on top. "Dean?"

Dean held himself rigid, couldn't let himself sink into what Sam asked for. "Shhh," he breathed out, his hand stroking gently over Sam's bruised cheek.

Sam felt the way Dean held himself aloof and said, "What's wrong, Dean?" He nuzzled the hand on his cheek and kissed at the palm. "Come here."

"I can't, Sam. We can't." Dean stroked his cheek softly again. "You'll hate me in the morning and every day after that." He brushed a soft kiss over Sam's lips and then slid back, pulled away from Sam and off the bed.

Sam sat up, hand out to Dean. "I won't, Dean. I- I need this, need you." He scooted toward the end of the bed, after Dean. "Please."

Flinching at Sam's words, Dean stumbled back. "You don't want this or me. You had Jess and the life you wanted...there's no way you can want _me_." Dean grabbed his jeans and coat off the chair, ducking to grab his boots. He turned for the door and let himself out of the room, breaking into a run to get to the car and away from Sam.

"Dean!" Sam vaulted off the bed and ran to the door, his lack of dress halting him at the frame. "Dean!" He watched as the Impala roared off into the night, leaving him alone, clutching at the wood in the middle of a ruined salt line. "Dean."

~~~~~~~

Sam used the iron knife to carefully pry open an air vent above the evidence lockers in the Palo Alto main police station.  He peered down into the stillness, glad that the city did not have a higher crime rate.  A few people wandered the halls below him, but if he timed himself correctly, he ought to be able to go unnoticed.  If Jess cooperated.

**********

Dean entered the bar, striding directly to an open spot and ordering two shots of tequila, which he knocked back in easy succession.  Wiping his hand over his mouth, Dean sighed and lifted his gaze to the rest of the patrons.  No pool table, so hustling was out.  He couldn't really afford to get in a fight, not with needing to be in top shape to fight Jess.  There was one thing he could do, so Dean softened his gaze, breathed out easy and took another sweep of the room for a girl who might not be able to resist him.

**********

Sam waited until the hall cleared out for at least five minutes and then lowered his long frame from the vent, landing softly on the ground.  He darted behind a post, knife at the ready.  His breaths fell long and easy, as he forced himself to relax into the moment.  He frowned at the jumbled array of lockers, hoping the police had some sort of manageable filing system so he could figure out how things were stored. 

**********

At first glance, there wasn't a girl in sight who wasn't with a guy or looked remotely interested in him.  Dean ordered himself a beer and turned to lean against the bar while he sipped.  A few minutes in, his gaze was caught by an attractive blonde; curvy in all the right places, but not so gorgeous that his attention would be expected or challenged.  When she looked his way, Dean smiled at her.  He could see the color bloom slightly on her cheek when she leaned in to tell her girlfriend.

**********

Sam picked the lock into the storage locker gate, ears pricked for the smallest sound.   He slid in, closing the gate behind him, and kept low to the ground.  He located a stuffed binder and opened it, grimacing at the scrawled notes inside.  Sliding his finger down the list, he searched for Melissa's name.  The clomp of footsteps, accompanied by voices, made him freeze and scoot behind one of the tall lockers.  There was a few moments of noise and then the people moved on, a door shutting somewhere in the distance.  He breathed out again and went back to his search.

**********

When she approached, Dean smiled his best seductive smile and turned his body to her, leaning with one elbow on the bar and legs crossed at the ankles.  He ordered her a drink, another beer for himself and asked her name and since this was Palo Alto, her major.  Dean was surprised to find that while she was smart and attractive, she was also funny and shy.  It took him longer than normal, but he had her smiling and leaning toward him, eyes sparkling in invitation.

**********

Sam opened the evidence locker and gently pulled out the basket inside.  He grimaced at the bagged blood- and dirt-stained clothes and carefully pushed them aside with his gloved hand.  Just underneath lay a bag containing a book bound in red-stained leather.  He lifted the bag out and smiled upon reading the title, 'Pschyomantium.'  "There you are." 

**********

Her name was Lydia, and she pressed her chest against his arm before long, legs shifting to bring her closer to him when the crowd ostensibly closed in.  When her hand landed on Dean's arm and she pressed up to murmur in his ear, Dean knew he'd struck gold.  With a smile and a quick turn of his head, he breathed an invitation over her ear before nipping lightly at the lobe.  Lydia turned bright eyes to him, slight hesitation in them, before nodding and gripping his forearm tighter.

**********

Sam tucked the book into his hoodie as he shut the door behind him.  He crossed quickly toward the vent, figuring out how he would boost himself back up.  A slightly sickish light flickered on behind him, and he turned with his knife drawn.  "Hello, Jess," he whispered, just as she flew at him with a ragged scream.

**********

Dean slid his arm around Lydia, shielding her from the crowd while he wove their way through the bar and out the front door.  He wasn't planning on going far and the warmth of the California evening helped in that regard.  Lydia pressed to his side, wrapped around him. Dean led her around the side of the building, back to the wall and leaned in for a kiss.  He was careful at first, luring her in and relaxing her with a gentle, but thorough, exploration.  It wasn't until she whimpered and pressed against him that he took the kiss deeper and harder, sliding one thigh between hers.

**********

Sam swung the iron blade, cutting through Jess' apparition, which disappeared with another screech.  He heard the pounding of running feet approach and abandoned his initial escape idea.  Instead, he raced for one of the back windows, determined to use that as his method of exit.  Jess helped him along by grabbing his right shoulder and propelling him headfirst through the glass.

**********

Lydia moaned low, rubbing against Dean, hands clutching at his shoulders while she gave as good as she got.  Dean arched into her, dragging the hard length of his cock along her hip before reaching down with both hands and hauling her higher against him.  She brought her legs up around his waist and once he had her braced on the building, he brought one hand down between them to the seam of her jeans, pressing the rough edge against her body and rubbing fast and hard to hear her gasp.

**********

Sam skidded across the pavement, but scrambled to his feet and sped down the street before even registering the pain of new injuries and reopened old ones.  He heard yelling and sirens behind him and ducked into a nearby alley, skirting over a jagged fence and stumbling almost into Jess.  He ducked her strike and redrew the blade, still too close to the station to risk his gun.  His slice caught her arm just as her arm caught his face, and both recoiled- Jess into nothingness and Sam into the building behind him.

**********

Dean slammed his mouth over Lydia's when he felt her body arch into orgasm.  He swallowed the noises while she trembled in his arms.  It was heady the way she'd worked up as quickly as he had and then spun out of control.  She panted in his arms, head forward and mouthing at his throat, kisses and nips until she brought liquid blue eyes to his.  "Fuck me.  Please.  Want it."  Groaning, he stole her breath with another kiss, before lowering her to the ground and attacking her jeans.

**********

Groaning as his breath stuttered from his lungs, Sam heaved himself away from the building and staggered down the alley.  By the time he reached the street, he felt recovered enough to sprint more naturally.  The bright lights and crowds beckoned him as a way to avoid Jess, but he feared his appearance would draw too much attention.  Instead, he stuck to the darkness, finally drawing his gun in case his former lover appeared again. 

**********

Lydia took over from Dean, undoing her jeans and shoving them down to reveal the tiniest of lacy panties.  She turned and braced against the wall, her jeans around her ankles and back arched to thrust herself toward him.  Dean's hands raced to rip open his button fly, grabbing a condom from his pocket before shoving his jeans down.  He reached one hand out to trace over her ass, tugging the flimsy lace down to settle mid-thigh before slicking the condom on and sliding two fingers in and out of her heat.

**********

Jess reappeared as Sam stumbled across one of the few vacant lots left in Palo Alto.  He saw her from a distance and broke into a run, keeping an eye on her as she streaked toward him.  Suddenly, she vanished and then reappeared right in front of him.  Sam slammed on the brakes, but fell into her outstretched arms.

**********

With a groan, Dean pulled his fingers out and then pressed forward into her, his hands gripping tight to her hips.  She moaned low and tipped her head back, fingers digging at the side of the building.  He pulled almost fully out before thrusting forward and burying himself on another groan.  In and out, over and over, Dean repeated the strokes, his hands tugging her back so they were slamming together.  Lydia cried out when Dean reached around and slicked his fingers over his clit.  He played her expertly, wanting to see her come again, to feel her clenching around him when he lost it.  They were almost there and Dean leaned forward, growling in her ear and slamming into her body.

**********

Sam's breath cut off with an 'hhhccck,' and he scrabbled to remove the ghostly hands from his neck.  But even as darkness threatened the corners of his eyes, the amulet flared, stronger than before, and drove Jess away.  He tumbled to the ground, gasping in and out like a dying fish.

**********

Lydia arched and cried out, her body trembling against the wall while clenching tight around Dean.  He rode out her orgasm, fingers working her clit to get a third one out of her body while he held back as long as he could.  Dean finally gave in, hips stuttering from their rhythm with a few more hard strokes into her before he went rigid and flooded the condom with his release.  Panting, he dropped a kiss to her shoulder and then nosed at her jaw until she turned to meet his mouth for a kiss.

**********

Sam lifted his gun as Jess came after him again, hand steady and mind appalling clear.  He waited until he could see into the depths of her dead eyes, the disturbing emptiness behind them.  And then he pulled the trigger, salt shattering right through her breast, the center of her now-still heart, even as he screamed his rage and sorrow into the night.

~~~~~~~

Dean rumbled up to the motel in the Impala, reeking of sex and beer and more relaxed than he'd been since they headed toward Palo Alto and this case.  The sex was good, better than he'd hoped, but a sense of dissatisfaction weighed down Dean's shoulders, like it didn't quite fit right or do the trick.  He cut the engine and sat for a beat before pushing out of the car and heading straight for their room.  A shower would be in order, so he didn't get hell from Sam in the morning.  Opening the door, Dean noticed was that the lights were still on and the room was empty.  He yelled for Sam, moving to the bathroom, but knew his brother was not there.

Sam trudged across the motel parking lot, head down and gun clutched loosely in one hand.  He noticed the Impala parked in front of the room with no emotion at all.  Jess had not reappeared after Sam shot her, but he'd been on his guard the whole way back.  Now, he wanted nothing more than a shower and sleep.  He unlocked the door and pushed into the room.

The sound of the door opening had Dean spinning around and charging back into the room.  "Where the hell did you go?"  He stopped to take in the sight of his brother, bruised and bloodied, and added, "What happened, Sam?"

Sam took the 'Psychomantium' out of his hoodie pocket and tossed it on the table.  He shrugged out of the warm sweater and dropped it on the bed.  Brushing by his brother and wincing at the smell, Sam headed for the sink and washed blood and dirt off his arms and face.  He noted with some relief that he had managed not to destroy any clothing this time.  The bruises on his neck had begun to form, however, into dark, fingerprint shapes. 

Dean stared at the book on the table, eyes darkening and forehead furrowing.  "You went after the book alone, didn't you?"  He followed Sam back to the bathroom, gaze narrowing in on the bruising.

"I **got** the book alone," Sam clarified.  He picked up a washcloth and cleaned out the remaining dirt and grime from his cuts.  His insides twisted unpleasantly when he remembered how gently Dean had taken care of him earlier that very evening.  He did not show himself equal consideration, reopening a few of the wounds with his cleansing.  He ignored the slight bleeding and reached for the antibiotic ointment.

"Stop it, Sam."  Dean pushed into the room and took the ointment away from Sam.  He did a quick wash of his hands and grabbed another towel to dab at the wounds.

Sam backed away, eyes blazing.  "You stink."  He sidestepped Dean and headed back for the main room and his bed.

Rolling his eyes, Dean acknowledged that Sam was probably right.  "And you look like you got run over by a truck."  Dean gathered up the first aid supplies and followed Sam.  "Hold your nose because I'm going to patch you up again, Sam."

"Touch me, and I'll break your face," Sam said, enunciating every word with ice cold precision. 

"You're just going to hurt yourself worse then?"  Dean stared at Sam, saw the deadly anger in his eyes and threw the supplies on the bed.  "Fine.  Fuck you, Sam.  Go ahead and reopen your damn wounds because you're being an idiot."  He backed away and strode to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him before turning on the water to boiling.

Sam picked up the supplies and finished cleaning his wounds, the actions methodical and engrained.  He put them all away neatly and headed for bed, before pausing to stare at the 'Pyschomantium.'  He rubbed at the marks on his neck and then picked up the book.  Propping up the pillows and leaning back, he thumbed through the ancient pages until he found one with a small mark on it.  He began to read the spell, making sure to say nothing out loud. 

Dean's shower was exactly what he needed, the grit, grime and fantastic sex melting under the fiery heat of the water.  He took his time and then stepped out, one lone towel left to dry off with.  The rest were covered in Sam's dirt or blood.  With a sigh, Dean tugged his boxer briefs back up and carried the remainder of his clothing out into the room.  He tossed it on his duffel and went to his bed, yanking back the covers and climbing inside.  If Sam wanted to be a pissy bitch, then Dean was going to get some sleep.

Sam finished reading the spell and grimaced, thinking of all the ways the thing could have gone wrong and made Jess the way she currently was.  He flipped to the beginning of the book and scrolled through, trying to find the way to reverse what Melissa had done.  After a moment, he hopped up and went to the table, flipping open the laptop.  He needed some help deciphering the book, and there were supplies to find.   Besides, he wanted to keep himself distracted from the loneliness building inside him, constructing itself on Dean's rejection.  And sleep, with all its inherent nightmares, was hardly an appealing option.

Dean shifted in the bed, listening to Sam move about. He hated that they were at odds and had no idea why his brother was so angry. Sighing, Dean flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling

Sam jotted down notes and put together a list of things they would need to complete the reversal spell. He leaned against his fist and tapped pencil against paper. His head swirled unpleasantly, and he pictured himself casting the spell- eyes glowing and body thrumming with powerful energy. He tossed the pencil to the table and buried his face in his hands. He had to cast the spell, he was better at it then Dean, but the book was evil, seductive.

With a long breath, Sam stood up and began to stuff things into a small bag. He glanced once at the book, but decided against taking it with him. He glanced once at Dean, lying still in his bed and shook his head. Scrounging up his hoodie, he yanked it on, grabbed his gun and headed for the door.

Sitting up when Sam began to leave, Dean squinted at him. "Where're you going, Sam?" He hopped up and headed toward his clothes, frowning at the thought of Sam taking off without him. "You haven't slept a wink, and you're the one who said you needed more time to plan."

"I had time," Sam said without inflection. "You rejected me and went to fuck some random chick. Left me plenty of time to plan." He shrugged and opened the door, glancing around into the warm evening. "I've read the counter spell a few times and know what I need to make it work. Want to get this done, and some of the stuff I need is across the Bay. Don't worry, Dean. I know how to get around here, even at this hour."

"And Jess is still out there, and you're beat to hell." Dean scrambled into his pants, dragging a clean shirt over his head before scrounging for some socks. He hated being caught at a disadvantage and finding himself three steps behind Sam left Dean unsettled. "Give me a minute for the boots, and I'll take you wherever you want to go."

Sam watched Dean struggle into his clothes. "I don't want you to come."

Dean glared up at Sam, tugging on his boots and lacing them up lightening quick. "Tough shit, Sam. You're not going alone. We agreed to that and you already broke your word. I didn't reject you, Sam. You're not yourself and if I let you continue, you'd only end up hating me. Now, let's go get the rest of what you need."

"You made your choice, Dean," Sam said, voice still even, but the edges rougher. "You decided to leave me alone, not that other way around."

"No, you made that choice. Years ago, you left me." Dean ground the words out, grabbed his leather jacket and dug in the pocket for his keys. "You've had Jess and don't even want to live the life I lead. Now, get in the fucking car, so we can end this and you can go off to whatever life you want to live." Dean stormed past Sam, not caring that he jostled his brother.

"I offered you everything," Sam said to Dean's retreating back, "and you threw it back in my face. And then rubbed my nose in it as hard as you could." He remained at the door, leaning against it as if only the wood kept him from collapsing.

"You offered me nothing, Sam. Nothing." Dean breathed out hard. "You just took. You did what you wanted, without thought to consequence or repercussion. Or what it might do to me when you leave."

"Then that's what I am to you... nothing. Cause that's what I offered." Sam looked into the night, eyes distant and sad.

Dean slammed his fist on the side of the car whirling on Sam. "You think you offered yourself to me? Try again, Sam. If you want to offer yourself, you better be clear that's what you're doing... not just using someone in a moment of need."

"Why, so you can throw it in my face again? Remind me that I'm just a fucking freak who's worth less than any woman who lets herself get picked up?" The furniture in their room, along with the Impala, began to rattle and shake.

"Fuck you, Sam." Dean stalked closer, lessening the distance between them. "You're everything to me, have been for as long as I can remember. I've never, not once, called you a freak for any of this. That's your doing, your hang up, not mine." The space between them shrank to nothing, Dean right in Sam's face, the pain and fear of losing Sam burning in his eyes. He grabbed Sam by the shoulders. "How can you not see that you are everything?"

Sam put his hands on Dean's shoulders and let himself collapse. He sobbed hoarsely, the breaths rattling out of his damaged throat. The rumbling stopped, until only Sam shook.

Unexpected as it was, Dean instinctively curled his arms around Sam, dragging him in until his brother was tucked up against him and completely supported. He murmured soft words, nonsense mostly, to calm and soothe Sam.

"I'm sorry," Sam cried into Dean's shoulder, everything heaving with effort. "I'm sorry you can't believe me, Dean. Sorry I had to leave before. Sorry Dad died."

"Shhhh, it's okay, Sammy. We'll make everything okay." Dean stroked his back and cradled him close. It hurt to see Sam so devastated, so wrung out. With a bit of maneuvering, Dean got them both back into the room, so the door could swing shut and afford them more privacy than the parking lot.

"How?" Sam asked, his voice small and tired.  "You accused me of using you, of thinking of nothing but myself.  How can things be all right if you think that?" 

"We can fix anything, Sammy.  We can."  Dean closed his eyes and held Sam to him.  "I don't really think you used me.  I think you're reaching out for comfort, and I'm the closest thing."  He breathed out, trying to keep his emotions in check.  "I don't think you really want your brother that way, Sam.  You've got too much potential for a real life."

Sam shook his head and lifted watery eyes to look at Dean.  "I don't know how to convince you.  I'm not going anywhere, even if I wanted to, Dean.  This is my real life, for better, for worse.  You're my life."

"You could go do anything.  You did it once before, Sam.  Besides, just because you're in this life with me... doesn't mean that you want to be with me like that, Sam."  Dean's eyes were almost as watery as his brother's.

Sam laughed hollowly and nuzzled Dean's cheek.  "My first wet dream was about you, Dean.  The first time I ever made myself come, I was whispering your name.  I barely knew what sex and desire was when I first started looking your way."  He sighed and rested his head against his brother again.  "I was angry when I came back into this, Dean.  I said things I never should have said, things I really didn't mean.  I took everything out on you because you were there.  And I hate myself for that.  You're the only good thing I've had **all** my life.  I'm not leaving you again."

Dean blinked at Sam, stock still and shocked to the core.  Sam wanted him.  Dean looked at him, uncomprehending still.  "You dreamt of me?"

Sam smiled a little, one dimple trying to appear.  "All the time.  It was torture, watching you seduce the female population of America.  Especially when I was such a gawky, awkward teenager, all gangling limbs and aching bones." 

Blushing, Dean ducked his head and hunched his shoulders slightly.  His exploration of the fairer sex was a coping mechanism he clung to once he'd discovered how well it worked for him. "I never had a clue, Sam.  You were so different as a teen.  You sneered at the girls and at me."

"I thought you'd hate me for wanting you," Sam said, pushing in closer.  "All those girls... that's what you seemed to want.  What chance did I have?  Sneering was a way to cope with the pain.  So was running off to college.  I couldn't have you.  Dad and I were fighting all the time... it seemed the only way."

"I wanted you too."  Dean whispered the admission, heart thudding and stomach clenching.  For the first time ever, he'd admitted that he wanted his brother.  The churning in his stomach made Dean bite at his lip and look at Sam in confusion, hope and fear.  "I can't lose you, Sam."

"Wither you go, so go I," Sam whispered and pressed a gentle kiss to Dean's mouth.  He lingered sweetly, chastely keeping his lips sealed and the contact dry.  Dean needed to decide what to do, where to go.

Dean pulled back, wide-eyed and breathing fast.  He eyed Sam, staring deep into his eyes to see the veracity of Sam's words.  With a soft groan, almost helpless in its want, Dean dove in and kissed Sam hard.  He brought his hands from Sam's back to his head, holding him in place while he delved to touch and taste everything.

Sam returned the kiss gladly, letting Dean take what he wanted, what he needed.  His own hands slid from Dean's shoulders to the small of his back, holding him close.  When they parted mouths, he gently separated them and headed back for the bed.  Tossing off hoodie, shirts, shoes and socks, he flopped back and scooted up to lie fully on the mattress in offering. 

"Sam?" Dean hesitated, frozen near the door, watching his brother settle on the bed already half-naked.  He needed help, a blatant invitation and more reassurance that Sam really wanted this. 

"Will you come hold me, Dean?" Sam asked, reaching out a hand.  "We don't have to do anything else, if you don't want, but I'd like to feel your arms around me."  He smiled fully, exposing the dimples in all their glory and hope restored to his eyes.

Dean breathed out, nodded and then moved to Sam's side.  His movements were halting and slow, breath shallow while he tugged off his jacket and then bent to remove his boots.  It took him another few minutes to settle on the bed, flat on his back with his head turned to Sam, eyes still wide.  "You sure, Sam?"

Sam rolled over and plastered himself to Dean.  He wrapped his right arm around Dean's chest, threw his right leg over Dean's legs and tugged until his front rested against Dean's side.  With a sigh of contentment, he leaned his forehead against Dean's head and shut his eyes.  "'M sure." 

Taking a minute to feel Sam against him, Dean wriggled his arm out and then worked it under and around Sam. He sighed and turned his cheek to rest on Sam's head. It was a new sensation, only it was as old as Sam, at the same time. Dean settled in to absorb the feelings, holding Sam and closing his eyes.  
~~~~~~~

The sun was high in the sky before Sam woke up, still wrapped tight against Dean. For the first time in a year, he felt at peace with himself and the world. There was still much to be discussed and decided, but for once, Sam thought they could overcome any obstacle. He sighed and pushed his mouth against the nearest part of Dean for a soft kiss.

Sam's touch brought Dean to consciousness almost instantly. He took in the way Sam pressed against him, curled intimately together in a way that left him smiling and content. He brought the hand on Sam's back up to caress the back of his neck.

"Hey. I didn't mean to wake you up," Sam said in soft apology. He yawned and stretched before settling back into Dean. "That's the best sleep I've had in a long time."

"Yeah?" Dean stroked gently over the back of Sam's head, fingers tangling in the long strands of hair. "Me too. We both slept all the way through."

"And halfway back again," Sam said with a glance at the light coming through the drawn curtains. "I bet it's after noon." He pushed back against the hand in his hair like an affectionate cat. "I love you, Dean."

Dean's eyes widened in pleased surprise. "Yeah? I love you too, Sammy." He grinned, bright and wide, before tightening his fingers to pull Sam in for a gentle kiss.

Sam laughed softly and kissed back. "I hope you change your mind a bit about soapy scenes, Dean, cause I think I may be telling you that a lot." He sighed and slumped a little. "I don't want to get out of bed today. Just want to lay here with you and let the world go by without the Winchesters."

"Tomorrow soon enough for you? We have to handle Jess today, but then I think the world can do without us for awhile." Dean rubbed at the back of Sam's head, his fingers teasing over the skin of Sam's neck and back up again.

"Yeah, I know. I want her to be at peace, Dean. I want us all to be at peace." Sam pressed his head into Dean's neck and hid there for a moment. He wrapped his arms tight around Dean and gathered the strength to do what needed doing.

Dean curled himself around Sam, arms holding his brother close to him. "Our peace is not likely, but we will make peace for others. Kiss me, Sam?"

"Our peace is each other," Sam corrected, before kissing Dean. He pulled back before they really got started and nuzzled Dean's cheek.

Laughing, Dean ruffled Sam's hair. "You and your chick flick stuff, Sammy." He said it with love, teasing in his voice and eyes.

Sam leaned forward and blew a wet, loud raspberry right on Dean's forehead. "Whatever, dude."

Another laugh, and Dean wiped his forehead, bringing one free hand down to tickle Sam's side. "My little Samantha."

Sam groaned and smacked Dean's ass hard enough to sting, before rolling up to his feet. "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean called, laughing and stretching in the bed before climbing to his feet and working out the kinks of two tall, grown men sleeping squashed together. "Breakfast?"

"Want to go pick us up something at the diner? We can eat breakfast here without any fear of Jess attacking and then go get the rest of what we need for the spell." Sam glanced at the malignant book on the table. "We need to go to her grave."

"You promise not to touch that book while I'm gone?" Dean pointed at the offending item and looked Sam dead in the eyes. "I don't want you near it without me, okay?"

"I'm going to take a shower, which I failed to do last night," Sam said. "I don't want to be anywhere near that thing. And I want biscuits and gravy." He took a step toward the bathroom and then paused, looking over his shoulder. "Last night, when I was at my lowest, the 'Psychomantium' spoke to me. 'With my spells and your powers, we could lay the world to waste.'" He shuddered and looked away. "Who would give such a thing to a lonely college girl?"

Dean gawked at Sam, the thought that the book spoke to his brother making him shudder in revulsion. He grimaced and then climbed back into his clothes from the previous night. A shower would have to wait until after food. With another glance at the book, Dean spun on his heels and slid out of their room to the diner down the street.  
~~~~~~~

Sam walked through the cemetery, eyes focused on the flashlight beam that pointed the way toward Jess' grave.  He felt Dean beside him, gun at the ready, without needing to look his direction.  And despite the gravity and sorrow of the situation, Sam felt at peace in his heart.  He clutched the iron tablet tighter to his chest and said, "Maybe after this, we can go trick or treating." 

Dean snorted his laughter and shook his head at Sam.  "Yeah, Sammy.  You want to go trick-or-treating, we can.  Though, I can think of some treats that might be better."  He waggled his eyebrows at Sam, exaggerating the motion for a shot of humor in the midst of their purpose. 

Sam smiled for his brother, more at the attempt than the actual humor.  He moved over to bump shoulders affectionately.  "I wonder why Jess hasn't attacked yet.  You'd think she knows our purpose for tonight."

"Maybe she's storing up for one major attack."  Dean didn't like to think about that possibility, nor did he necessarily believe it, not after the way she'd repeatedly attacked Sam before. 

Sam turned into the row of headstones that included Jess' grave, nodding once at Dean's response.  The chilly night air seemed to drop several more degrees as they approached, and Sam stopped suddenly.  "Or maybe she's waiting for us," he said, staring at the apparition floating just above the mound of earth at Jess' tombstone.

"Looks like Door Number Two it is."  Dean hiked the shotgun loaded with rock salt to his hip.  He was ready to go and be damned if he let Jess get Sam.  "How close do you need to be to do this?" 

"I need to nail the tablet into her grave," Sam said softly.  "And then etch the words into the iron while saying them aloud."  He glanced at Dean.  "I hope your brought a lot of rock salt."  He stepped forward, boldly approaching the waiting shade.

Dean groaned at the answer, wondering why he hadn't thought to ask Sam about the exact plan.  Of course, being tumbled into bed by his own brother had left him a bit addled.  "I've got all the salt we had and a good bit of iron.  Just, you know, don't take too long, Sammy."

Sam nodded in understanding, just as Jess wailed, her patience apparently at an end, and streaked toward him with hands outstretched.  He ducked and rolled to give his brother a clear shot, still moving toward the grave. 

Hoisting the shotgun to his shoulder, Dean shot Jess straight through the chest.  Her spirit dissipated, and Dean ran after Sam, trying to stay as close to him as reasonable so that Jess wouldn't pop up and surprise him. "Show's on, Sammy.  Let's get this done."

"Show's always on, Dean," Sam said.  He dropped to his knees in the center of the grave and set the tablet in the earth.  Taking out the special copper nails, he began to drive them through holes at the corners of the tablet and into the soft dirt.  Until Jess materialized and knocked him into Dean.

Tumbling back at the force of Sam hitting him, Dean flipped them over so he covered Sam.  Bringing the gun up, he took another shot at Jess.  If she'd been human, he'd have winged her, but thankfully, with spirits any salt was too much and she dissipated again.  Dean groaned and heaved himself off Sam.  "You okay, Sammy?"  He wasn't looking at Sam, eyes flicking around the graveyard.

"This is getting monotonous," Sam said, crawling back to the grave.  He drove in another two nails before Jess reappeared, this time just out of shotgun range.  She glared at them balefully, as Sam drove in the last nail, before trying another swoop at Sam. 

This time Dean was ready, diving for the iron bar he'd dropped and coming up at Jess, swinging it through her mid-section and causing her to dissipate again.  "I couldn't agree more, Sam.  But, at least, she's not getting too close to you.  Now, get on with the spell." 

Sam carefully began to etch the Latin words into the tablet, murmuring them softly while he did.  His hand trembled a little with emotion, as he cast the binding spell which would lay Jess to rest forever.  When he invoked Hecate's name, Jess reappeared, form wavering around the edges.  Her face had twisted into an even more terrible rage.  Dodging Dean, she laid open five linear scratches along Sam's left cheek, spattering the grave with droplets of blood.  Sam recoiled from the blow, but then yanked himself up, continuing the etching. 

"Sam, how much longer here?"  Dean didn't have a good shot from where he stood, since Jess had materialized right in front of Sam.  Dean tried to move himself around to Jess, but she moved and hovered to keep Sam between them, knowing that Dean wouldn't jeopardize Sam.

Sam did not dare break the spell to speak to Dean.  He shifted position as well, the three of them doing a deadly dance around the grave.  Jess kept drifting closer, trying to get another shot at Sam, but then darting again when Dean got a clear view.  Sam carved Jess' name into the tablet, starting the final section of the spell.  In his hoodie pocket, the 'Pschymantium' began to warm up and hiss.  The letters on the tablet glowed faintly, brightening a little more with each mark Sam made.  For the first time, Jess' spirit looked frightened.

Dean caught the fear on Jess' face and the glowing tablet.  He raised the shotgun again, took aim and waited.  That kind of fear often caused rash desperation and the last thing he would let happen was Sam being hurt because he wasn't ready.  Under his breath, Dean egged Sam on, trying to speed the spell up with his will.

Sam repeated Jess' name and carved it again into the tablet.  The earth around the iron began to scorch and turn black.  The book's malignant hiss grew louder.    
   
Jess stretched out her hands, palms up this time in entreaty.  "Sam," she said clearly.  "Sam, please, don't."

"Don't listen to her Sam.  Don't even think about looking at her."  Dean knew Sam and how much he loved Jess.  The last thing he needed was to see her begging and pleading. 

Tears splashed over the tablet, leaking from Sam's eyes, but he continued without pause.  His voice shook, but the words were clear, as were the letters he continued to etch.  
   
"Sam, please, if I ever meant anything to you!" Jess cried, her form wavering even more and beginning to fade further from view.  "Don't send me back to Hell!"

"Shut up!" Dean yelled at the spirit.  He advanced, finally able to get a clear shot at her, just in case Sam faltered.  "Don't listen to her, Sam.  You know they lie to get what they want."  He ached to go to Sam, to reassure and comfort him.

Jess drew back from Dean; face twisting while she regarded the obstacle between herself and Sam.  Shrill screams erupting from her transparent throat, she flew down on Dean in a rage.  
   
Unable to help his brother for fear of aborting the spell, Sam began the very last section.  In his hoodie, the book glowed white hot, searing the material and flesh.  He chanted Jess' name for the third and final time.

Dean yelled, trying to shoot Jess, but she moved too fast and plowed him to the ground.  Grasping for the iron, Dean raised his arm to strike when Jess flickered in front of him and then disappeared with a scream.  He panted on the ground, head turning to look for Sam and eyes widening in fear at what he saw.

Jess hovered right above Sam, her hands raised to try and break his neck.  Sam's own face twisted in pain and effort, while he struggled to finish the spell.  The book burned a hole right through the hoodie and into Sam's stomach.  "Sam Winchester!" he finished and etched the last of his name into the tablet.  
   
The rage fell from Jess' face, leaving behind the beautiful, sweet girl Sam had known.  "I love you, Sam," she whispered into the night air, before slipping away forever.

Dean was already to his feet, charging forward when Jess changed and disappeared.  He moved to Sam's side, dropping to his knees and reaching out to touch his shoulder.  "You okay, man?"

Crying out in disgust, Sam tore the book from his ruined hoodie, scalding his fingers in the process, and flung it on the grave.  "Burn it, Dean.  Please."

"With pleasure, Sammy."  Dean stepped back a pace to the bag they'd brought with them, pulling out the lighter fluid.  He doused the book and then tossed a lit match on it, watching it burn in a bright fiery light.

Sam slumped against Dean, leaning his head on his big brother's shoulder.  "It's done now.  Jess is at peace, and the 'Psychomantium' is destroyed."  He shut his eyes and breathed in Dean's scent, letting it soothe him. 

Dean reached around Sam, curling his arm protectively and comfortingly around Sam's shoulders, and tugged him in close.  He closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to just feel Sam close and breathe him in.  "We should get out of here.  Let's get back to the motel."

"What about my trick-or-treating?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice light, despite the ache of old and new wounds. 

"You can have anything you want, Sam."  Dean chuckled and rubbed down Sam's arm.  "Let's just get started by getting out of this graveyard, okay?" 

Sam held out his burnt hands and sighed.  "I guess what I want is a lot more taking care of," he said.  "And a new hoodie."  He looked forlornly down at the huge hole in his favorite piece of apparel.  He pushed himself to feet and smiled sadly at Dean.  "I did love her, you know.  Not like I love you, but enough to have been happy."

"I know you did, Sammy," Dean hugged him close, knowing that one love didn't diminish the other.  He could feel sad for Jess now that the threat to Sam's life was over.  "We can get you bandaged up and even replace the hoodie.  Just glad you're okay, Sammy."

Sam turned and pressed his mouth over Dean's, searching for the comfort of his brother's love.  "We can get the hoodie and buy leftover Halloween candy tomorrow.  Want to be with you now, Dean." 

Dean reached up and tangled his hand in Sam's hair, holding him in for a series of increasingly heated kisses.  He pulled back after a short time and leaned their foreheads together.  "Yeah, like the sound of that, Sammy."  Another kiss, and Dean turned Sam toward the Impala, bending down to grab their things.  "Do we need to leave the tablet here?"

"It will bury itself in the earth," Sam said.  "Seals the spell for eternity.  They find these things all over the ancient world during digs, you know?"  He sighed and smiled at Dean with kiss-swollen lips.  "Thanks, Dean." 

"They do?   Well, good to know other people were out there protecting their world."  Dean smiled at Sam and then punched him lightly in the arm.  "Any time, bro.  Now, let's get you patched up."

"Actually, a lot of them were used in attempts to cast erotic love spells," Sam said with a soft laugh.  He headed toward the Impala, not looking back, but forward, toward his future.

~~~~~~~

Sam headed straight for the bathroom, elbowing on the light and leaning against the edge of the sink.  He armed on the water and held his hands under the cold stream, eyes shut.  "You're going to have to get me out of these clothes, Dean."

Chuckling low, Dean leaned against the door jamb.  "With pleasure, Sammy."  He waggled his eyebrows and let Sam see the heat in his eyes.  Even if this was not the moment for such things, Dean liked that he could let Sam see his feelings now.

Sam laughed and pushed away from the sink.  He held out his hands expectantly to Dean, so he could dry them and start the task of stripping Sam.  "I thought you might be up for the challenge," he said.

"Ever known me not to be?"  Dean raked his gaze over Sam, the heat dimming some in light of Sam's injuries.  "God, that spell did a number on you."  He moved forward and took one of the towels to lightly dab at Sam's hands.  Once they were dry he went back to their first aid kit and got more of the burn cream.  "Need to add this to the shopping list."  Dean spread the cream over Sam's hands.  "Do you want some bandages?"

"Yeah, I guess I need them."  Sam sighed, thinking of how much he'd been looking forward to touching Dean.  He leaned forward to steal a kiss, reassurance that he was loved.  "I've been thinking about the spell... about the book.  I think somebody wanted me to have it."

Dean kissed Sam, pulling back with a frown.  "What makes you say that?"  He reached into their kit for the bandages, wrapping Sam's hands lightly, though securely.  Once they were protected, Dean set about gently stripping Sam out of the damaged clothing.

Sam lifted his legs and arms obediently for Dean, shaking his clothes off.  "It was just so convenient, wasn't it?  Melissa being able to find that particular book to raise Jess.  And my being able to get it back with little interference.  And the way it talked to me..."  Sam shivered and wrapped his arms around his naked chest. 

Dean frowned even harder.  "Yeah, I'm not sure I like that idea, Sammy.  I'm glad we burned it.  Now it can't hurt anyone else and..."  He trailed off, not wanting to mention that it couldn't tempt Sam to the darkness.  Once Dean had Sam down to his boxers, he took a good look at the burn on Sam's stomach and shook his head.  "That damn thing burned you good, Sammy."

"It was stupid of me to leave it in my hoodie like that," Sam berated himself.  "I don't know what I was thinking."  He gestured to the burn cream.  "Is there enough left?"

"Yeah, enough for tonight, but we'll definitely need more for you tomorrow."  Dean set about gently slathering the skin of Sam's stomach with the burn cream.  He knew that it had to hurt but Sam wasn't complaining.  "Did you think it was going to do something like that?"

"I had no idea.  The thing was evil, though.  I shouldn't have left it somewhere it could hurt me.  But I was so intent on getting the spell done, putting Jess to rest."  Sam winced at the pain, but then sighed happily when Dean finished.  "You all right, Dean?  I mean, not hurt?"

"Nah, I'm fine."  Dean looked at Sam, pleasure beaming from his gaze before he turned back to the bandaging of Sam's stomach.  "Those are probably going to hurt for a bit.  Now on to the scratches on your face."  He reached out and turned Sam's cheek to the light.

"Yeah, this was definitely my turn to get beat up.  You managed without a scratch.  Jerk."  Sam sat down on the toilet so Dean could take care of the scratches more easily.  He settled his bandaged hands on Dean's hips.

Dean snorted and then went still when Sam's hands landed on his hips.  He needed to learn to get used to it, but for now, Sam's touches stopped him in his tracks.  "Yeah, for once, this one wasn't after me.  I'm sorry, Sam.  For what it's worth.  I wish this had never happened.  You didn't need to deal with this."  His finger trailed gently over the scratches before grabbing a wash cloth to clean them out.

"I think the perks may outweigh the detriments this time," Sam said, rubbing soothingly at Dean's hip.  "But thanks.  I know this wasn't exactly fun for you, either.  Being at Stanford with all the reminders..."

Shaking his head, Dean stopped what he was doing and turned Sam's face to his.  Leaning in, he pressed a gentle kiss to his brother's lips.  "I'm okay, Sam.  I was more worried about you and what you had to go through."  He stroked his thumbs over Sam's face with a grin.  "But, we came through it okay."

"More than okay," Sam confirmed, beaming.  He mouthed Dean's chin gently.  "Done with the aid?"

"Not quite."  Dean turned to catch Sam's lips with his before pulling back and reaching for the antiseptic spray.  "Close your eyes.  I want to be sure there's nothing left in your cheek from her claws."

"Aww, going the extra mile for me, Dean?"  Sam teased, but his eyes sparkled with joy.  He shut them and angled his cheek so Dean could clean them out.   "And she didn't have claws."

"Looked like claws from where I was sitting."  Once the cuts were clean, Dean tossed the supplies into their kit and then turned back to Sam.  "Rest time, Sammy-boy."

"Rest?" Sam asked with an innocent expression. "You want to rest now?"

Dean smirked at Sam. "I want _you_ to rest, Sam. You're pretty beat up."

"You're the best medicine there is, Dean," Sam said. He stood and smiled at Dean hopefully. "I can't do a lot with my hands, but..."

"What are you thinking, Sam?" Dean blinked at the thought of Sam doing anything in his current state.

Sam nuzzled Dean's hair and slid down to kiss him softly. "I have a very talented mouth," he whispered. "I experimented a bit in college."

Blinking at Sam, Dean swallowed hard. "Jesus, Sammy." He shifted in place, his jeans suddenly uncomfortable at the images racing through his brain.

Sam huffed a soft laugh and took Dean's lower lip between his own, sucking on it until it puffed up a little. He released the lip with a soft pop. "You'll have to feed it to me, cause I can't use my hands."

Dean leaned in and took Sam's lips in a hard kiss. The thought of fucking Sam's mouth with his cock had Dean hardening in his jeans and wrapping one rough hand around Sam's neck.

Responding to the kiss, Sam sucked on Dean's tongue and then nibbled. He pulled back and smiled in amusement. "I guess you like that idea. You like me on my back for you?"

"I'll take whatever you want to give me, Sam." Dean smiled wryly at him. "I never thought I'd have anything."

"So, if I just wanted you to worship me, and I never touched you, that'd be ok?" Sam teased. He placed both wrists on Dean's hips in a loose grip.

Dean's eyes widened comically, and he swallowed hard. "Yeah, Sammy. If that's all you were okay with, then I'd give that to you."

Heart swelling with love, Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and kissed him deeply. "You always put me first, Dean. What about what you want?"

"I have my right hand." Dean teased Sam, kissing him. "Plus, I am fairly confident you wouldn't actually want that."

"I mean it," Sam said. "This has to be equal between the two of us. Though, I guess you'll always be watching my back, huh?" He released Dean and winked, walking into the main room and toward the bed.

Looking up toward the ceiling, Dean took several deep breaths before adjusting himself in his jeans. He moaned softly, stroked the fabric a couple of times and then followed Sam into the main room, stopping short at the sight of Sam.

Sam laid spread across the bed, head propped up so he could take whatever Dean wanted to give him. His long legs were spread so Dean could kneel between them comfortably. He had managed to wiggle out of his boxers, and his cock was hard and leaking slightly.

Dean blinked, mouth gaping. "Jesus, Sam." He sucked in a harsh breath and crossed to the bed to settle on the edge before reaching out to stroke one hand hesitantly down Sam's hip.

Sam twisted his head to watch Dean with an inviting expression. "What's the matter, Dean? How come you're so tentative?"

"Still getting used to this, Sam." Dean stroked harder, careful of the burns and bandages, but testing the feel of Sam's skin. "I want so much, but I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you."

"When have you ever hurt me, Dean?" Sam asked, lifting his chin in invitation. "Please come here, Dean."

Smiling, Dean pushed himself up and then crawled over Sam, being extra careful not to touch his injuries. "Yes, Sammy?"

Sam lifted his head and sucked at the base of Dean's neck. He made a mark with his lips and teeth. "Don't be afraid, Dean. I know you won't hurt me. I want you to love me, Dean."

"I do love you, Sam." Dean reached out and caressed Sam's face, leaning in to kiss him hard. "It'd be different if you weren't injured." He leaned in and nibbled across Sam's collarbone before dragging his mouth down to suck one nipple into his mouth.

"Would it? I think you're nervous, cause this is the first time you'll ever make love to someone," Sam whispered. He moaned and arched into the sucking mouth, bandaged hands resting on Dean's head. He loved having his nipples sucked.

Dean didn't answer, couldn't answer... not without letting Sam go, and that wasn't an option. Dean wanted more of Sam's noises. He laved the nipple with his tongue and then worried the hard nub with his teeth.

Sam lost the ability to speak and just arched and gasped and moaned under the assault on his nipple. He wished he could hold Dean's head in his hands, but contented himself with tightening his arms.

"Careful, Sammy," Dean murmured when he pulled back. "Don't stretch the burns on your stomach." Leaning in again, Dean let up on Sam's nipples and bit his way down one side of Sam's stomach to his hip where he nipped sharply at one hip bone.

"Dean," Sam whispered, gasping at the bite. "I want to suck you, Dean. Let me?" He gestured with his damaged hands, asking Dean to slide back up.

Dean pulled back to look up the length of Sam's body, groaning at the visual of Sam laid out for him like a feast. "In a little bit, Sam. Not quite done here yet." Tilting his head back down, Dean nipped at the other hipbone before dropping kisses high on Sam's thighs. He gave Sam no warning, just slid up slightly and then took Sam's dick in his mouth to suckle on.

'Dean!" Sam thought the ceiling might have rattled on his cry. He flailed his hands uselessly around, hissing with pain when one connected with the bed. "Dean, can't. Hands?"

Pulling off Sam, Dean panted and pressed his forehead to Sam's hip. "Okay, Sammy. Sorry... don't hurt yourself." He took a few breaths before moving up Sam's body to press a heated kiss to Sam's lips.

Sam sighed and kissed back gently. "I just need somewhere to put them so I don't hurt them. Stupid book." He nuzzled under Dean's neck and settled his arms around Dean's back. "Use your hand?"

"Whatever you want, Sam." Dean brought one hand up and licked the palm before curling it around Sam's cock. He stroked slowly from base to tip, watching Sam the whole time. "Want you to feel so good, Sammy."

"Dean," Sam keened, seeking his mouth. He could keep his arms around Dean in this position, holding him tight, even as his hips moved into the knowing hand. "Does feel good," he whispered against warm lips.

Dean loved every sound pouring from Sam's mouth, so he tightened his grip slightly and stroked Sam faster and slightly harder while shifting so that his thigh helped to pin Sam to the bed. He nibbled along Sam's jaw with a breathy sigh.

If Sam were with anyone else, the speed of his approaching orgasm would have embarrassed him. But this was Dean. Besides, the way Dean fisted him, knowing and with such devotion made Sam run hotter than the damned book. So, when he came with a hoarse series of cries and made all the furniture in the room jump, all he felt was pleasure.

Tilting his head back on a laugh when the room around them rumbled, Dean waited until Sam came down from his orgasm and then kissed him within an inch of his life. He gentled his hand and then stopped the stimulation when Sam's twitched in hyper-sensitivity.

Sam's head fell forward to rest on Dean, while he panted himself back to his senses. He raised his head to nibble at Dean's lips, before sliding his tongue inside a warm, willing mouth and kissing a thank you for a long moment. When he pulled away, he asked, "What do you want, Dean?"

"I want you to touch me, Sammy." Dean lifted an eyebrow and sighed. "But that's not likely, at the moment. What do you feel up for?"

Sam slid down the bed to lie flat on the mattress, propping his head up on the pillow. He smiled up at Dean and opened his mouth.

Groaning, Dean slid to the side and then crawled up the bed on his knees. He braced himself on the wall and straddled Sam's chest. "Are you sure about this, Sammy?"

Resting his bandaged arms on Dean's hips, Sam said, "Just go slow, Dean. I haven't given a blowjob in a long time. But I'm good. At least, so I'm told." He winked at Dean.

Dean snorted at that, bending in half to press a sloppy kiss to Sam's forehead. "We'll see about that, Sammy." He slid forward slightly, bringing one hand down to caress Sam's cheek before grasping his dick and rubbing it across Sam's mouth. Dean would go only as fast as Sam allowed.

Sam licked at Dean's cock, exploring the feel and flavor eagerly. He pulled gently at Dean's hips to slide him inside a welcoming mouth. He sucked firmly at the head, fluttering a tongue along the sensitive underside.

Head tipping back on a moan, Dean moved forward at Sam's urging. He curled his hands into fists against the wall, thumping once with his right hand before he looked down to watch his dick sliding into Sam's mouth.

Inspired by Dean's response, Sam slid his mouth further up Dean's cock. He pulled back to release Dean completely with a wet pop. He nibbled the tip, allowing his tongue to slide into the slit.

Keeping his hips as still as possible, Dean shifted his weight from leg to leg while focusing on the sight of Sam's mouth teasing at and tasting him. He panted harshly, hands still fisted against the wall.

Sam released Dean completely, though he kept licking gently at the tip of Dean's cock. "You all right, Dean? You seem kinda antsy," he said, between licks. "Are you not enjoying this?"

Dean looked at Sam, disbelief widening his eyes. He choked on the words, but finally managed to speak. "Jesus, Sam. I'm trying not to hurt you here." He huffed out a harsh half-laugh. "I like this just fine. Trust me."

"You're moving more like a toddler who needs to pee than a guy enjoying a blowjob," Sam said with a little huff of warm air over the very tip of Dean's cock. "So, what's up in that brain of yours?"

"I'm trying not to choke you or to injure you any more than you already are, Sammy." Dean unfurled one fist and reached down to brush the hair back from Sam's eyes. "Nothing was going on in my brain until you started asking me questions."

Sam shook his head in amusement and slid all the way from the head of Dean's cock to the base and back again. He made the trip torturously slow, dragging his teeth in a few places and getting saliva everywhere. Before Dean could react, he slid all the way down and back again.

Dean groaned and slipped the hand from Sam's face to behind his neck to offer some support while Sam expertly bobbed his head down Dean's cock. He trembled above Sam, leaning to press his forehead into the wall, while trying desperately not to thrust into Sam's throat.

When he released Dean again, Sam sighed and said, "You'd enjoy this more, if you actually relaxed." He rubbed his nose and mouth against the firm organ.

"Jesus, Sam." Dean breathed out. "I'd enjoy this more if you stopped making me think." He stroked his thumb over Sam's cheek and then angled back off the wall. "You sure you're okay down there?"

Sam laughed again and went back to sucking, working his mouth hard and fast. He made Dean slick and wet, using his strong arms to pull and push at Dean. His tongue fluttered at the tip for a second, before he sank all the way down to deep throat him.

"Oh, fuck, yeah," Dean groaned the words out, fist slamming into the wall again at a particularly talented flick of Sam's tongue. He closed his eyes, head tipping back on a hoarse cry, while jerking his hips slightly in Sam's grasp.

Sam continued the rhythm and use of his teeth and tongue. He watched Dean with bright hazel eyes, deep throating his cock and humming. His senses were overwhelmed with the taste and smell of the only person he had ever loved with all his heart.

Dean was lost at the hum. The second his body registered the sensation, he let out a loud cry and came down Sam's throat. Dean trembled, trying to remain upright while riding out one of the most powerful orgasms he'd had in a long time.

Dean gave Sam quite a mouthful to deal with, and he swallowed as fast as possible. A little escaped him, but he caught the majority. As Dean calmed, Sam pulled off with a last couple of licks to his softening organ. "That good, Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean panted, left cheek still pressed to the wall. He forced his eyes open and glanced down at Sam. "Really good, Sammy." Using all of the strength left in his body, Dean moved off of Sam and finally settled into the bed, flopping on his back with one arm tucked under his head.

Sam rolled on his side and slid his arm over Dean's chest. He pressed soft kisses to Dean's neck, ear, collarbone and lips. "Really good. I'm so glad I managed a really."

Snorting, Dean curled his arm around Sam's back and turned his head to nuzzle at Sam's hair. "When I'm not so worn out, you can earn more than a really." He grinned and marveled that he and Sam were curled up for sleep after sex.

Sam found Dean's mouth and curled his tongue inside, deep and sensual. He made sure Dean got a full taste of himself, before pulling back. "Well, I guess I made you orgasm, have to be satisfied with that."

"Until you're healed, Sam, we'll have to make due." Dean buried his nose in Sam's hair. "After that, I plan to show you just how much you make me want."

Sam turned his head and pulled back from Dean. "Was that all this was- making due?"

Dean groaned, forced his eyes open and propped his head up so he could see Sam. "Nothing about you is making due, Sam. There is so much that I want to do with you, to do to you."

Sam shook his head and rolled on his back, crossing his damaged arms over his chest. "Stupid book."

"Damn book," Dean echoed, frowning at Sam moving away from him. He curled onto his side, sliding one arm under the pillow. "I'm just glad that it didn't hurt you more."

Sam turned his head toward Dean. "You going to sleep over there?"

"Mmm, maybe." Dean muttered on another yawn. He stretched and rolled forward, tucking his head on the pillow and draping his arm over Sam's chest, making sure to be well above the bandages.

Sam sighed and sidled over to press against Dean completely. He felt sad that Dean needed him to make all the moves, but figured his brother needed more time to get used to this.

Dean hummed in contentment once Sam pressed against him. He burrowed into the pillow, pressing a line of gentle kisses over Sam's shoulder with his eyes closed. Sleep called him hard, the fight with Jess and then sex with Sam having drained him completely.

"I love you, Dean," Sam whispered into Dean's ear. "I'll make you believe it someday." He closed his eyes and drifted toward sleep, knowing his dreams would be peaceful.


End file.
